To My Flute Poem by Robert Anderson

Hail! thou soft soother of my woes,
Friend to delight, and calm repose!
With thee, my happiest hours are spent,
Free from dull care, and discontent;
Unknown to folly's giddy train,
Whose revelry's the source of pain.

If absent from the friend sincere,
Or her this bosom still holds dear;
If by feign'd love, false friendship cross'd;
If by misfortune tempest toss'd;
Tho' hope her flattering aid denies,
With thee, soon sorrow from me flies.

The martial trumpet sounds to arms,
And tells of battle's dire alarms;
To fancy's ear, it echoes plain,
Of towns destroy'd, of brothers slain:
But thine are notes of peace and love,
Soft as the warblings of the grove.

Hail, pleasing Pipe! by man design'd
To ease, to harmonize the mind:
With joy, I turn to youth's gay hour,
When first I felt thy soothing pow'r;
And oft when toss'd on life's rough sea,
Thy sounds are dearest then to me!