Ode to Hope
Mary's Page
[Work in Progess]
POEMS OF A NOTTINGHAM LACE-RUNNER
ODE TO HOPE
When drear misfortune crowds each prospect here,
And gives to every painful feeling birth;
What is it then my drooping heart can cheer,
And is my only solace upon the earth?—
'Tis Hope.
Though keen affliction scarce a day omits,
But pays continual visits to my home;
What my weak shoulders to the burden fits,
And, flatt'ring, whispers better days to come?—
'Tis Hope.
When poverty's sharp arrows pierce my soul,
And bid me rapid to destruction fly;
What, instantly the rashest thoughts controul,
And bid me on her promises rely?—
'Tis Hope.
And still deluded on from year to year,
I fondly to the soft deceiver cleave;
And oft she stops my sighs and dries my tears;
Though she but flatter, yet, I still believe—
False Hope.
Trust her not, then, calm reason seems to say,
Her promis'd favours are so seldom given;
And when they are, they're fleeting as the day;
But rather wish to see her crown'd in Heaven;—
Sweet Hope.
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Contents
To a Lady who visited the author when she was in great distress 14
To a Lady who desired me to pray for the death of youngest child 17
Petition to the British Fair 19
On the Death of the Revd. Dr. Wylde, late of Nottingham 21
Lines, Written in July, on Widow Hind's garden, at Hints, in Staffordshire 26
Lines On the Death of a Gentleman of Basford 31
The Author to Her Infant Twins 35
Appendix: Mary Bailey's Obituary 37
Index of titles and first lines 42
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[Work in Progess]