To My Infant Daughter Eve.
By Mrs. D. P. Brown.
Fair little flow'r, may no rude storm
Impair thy early bloom,—
No cank'rous grief that smile deform,
Or antedate its doom.
In soul be ever as thou art
Mild, merciful, and kind,
Date all enjoyments from the heart,
All conquests from the mind.
The body is an empty thing,
Frail, worthless, weak, and vain;
The mind alone can pleasure bring,
Or soothe the bed of pain.
What is the gaudy casket, when
The priceless jewel's gone?
Such to the eyes of noble men,
Is beauty's charm alone.
Fashion may decorate the brow,
Fortune the eye allure,
But nothing worldly can bestow
Those treasures which endure.
Then fix, my child, thy hopes above;
All earthly joys deceive:
Rest solely on a Saviour's love,
My gentle daughter Eve.
Philadelphia.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
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