Thomas Cowherd

(March 20, 1817 – April 4, 1907 / England)

To My Wife - Poem by Thomas Cowherd

Ellen, dear, it is clear
I have not half thy merits told;
Sweet of life, lovely wife,
More precious thou hast been than gold.

Listen now; truth I trow
Will be my guide while I relate
What pure love, sweetest dove,
Thou still hast shown in marriage state.

When I'm ill thou dost fill
The office of a comforter;
Soothing sickness with such quickness
That disease seems banished far.

If low spirits we inherit,
Thou swiftly drivest them away
By sweet song all day long,
Until I feel quite young and gay.

Then our house, tidy spouse,
Is kept by thee so trim and neat,
That from home I'll not roam
To try and find a snug retreat.

Of girls and boys, and many joys,
We have, my dearest, quite our share;
How to use them, not abuse them,
Should always be our constant care.

But alas! how soon pass
All present good desires away.
Feel we weakness? then in meekness
Let us unto our Father pray.

He is strong, and has long
Upheld us by His mighty arm;
O how glorious! Faith victorious
Will us preserve always from harm.

Then let us pray, love, day by day,
That our dear children may be brought
Into His fold, ere they are old:
Even as God himself hath taught.

O, what pleasure in rich measure
We then should feel, my own true love!
For naught ever could us sever,
But all at last would dwell above-

By God's grace in that place
Inhabited by Spirits bright.
This secured, we allured,
Might view by Faith the glorious sight.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 26, 2012



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