Thomas Cowherd

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

An An Address By The Members Of The Institute At The Soiree - Poem by Thomas Cowherd

Dear friends, to this our social feast,
We bid you welcome gladly,
And trust you will not in the least
Spend moments with us sadly.

For though we've no great Bardling's strain
Joined to rich organ's pealing,
Yet none the less may Pleasure's train
Be softly near us stealing.

And should she deign to show her face,
To smile on us benignly,
Let's give to her a chaste embrace,
By no means most supinely.

What though we lack exciting cause
For loud, uproarious laughter?
Our temperate fare will not dispose
To heart-upbraidings after.

Yet we may well of mirth-enjoy
A reasonable measure;
And even skill and time employ
To gain so bright a treasure.

Avoiding still too great extremes,
Enjoy in moderation
The blessings which our Father deems
Best for us in each station.

Then we need have no vain regrets,
No consciences unruly,-
For sense of doing right begets
A sense of peace most truly.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 26, 2012

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