150
TO A YOUNG LADY.
On her Recovery from a Fever.
Why need I say, Louisa dear!
How glad I am to see you here,
A lovely convalescent;
Risen from the bed of pain, and fear,
And feverish heat incessant.
The sunny Showers, the dappled Sky,
The little Birds that warble high,
Their vernal loves commencing,
Will better welcome you than I,
With their sweet influencing.
Believe me, while in bed you lay,
Your danger taught us all to pray:
You made us grow devouter!
Each eye look'd up and seemed to say,
How can we do without her?
