Classic Poem

Once more bright Sol has traveld round the Sky,
And rolling moons have brought their various cares—
But on this happy morn we pass them by,
Forget all pain and dry the falling tears.—
Tho the lov'd friend is absent from these plains,
I Seize with Joy the long neglected lyre—
With ardour Strive to touch the sweetest Strains,
And trust the theme the Laureat may inspire—
Of the vibrations of a feeling heart—
That throbs at every view of human grief,
And cultivates the noble graceful art,
To seem obligd when it extends relief.—
If usefulness in an exalted sphere,
Can claim as due the gratulating lay,
The willing tribute must be offerd here,
And Softest numbers grace this natal day.—
How oft does sickness threaten to destroy—
The life we prize when heaven averts the blow,
And sends some genial medcine to supply
The Sinking veins with healths enlivening glow.
No more pierian draughts are needed here,
For gratitude will tune the feeble strings,
Will tell the worth of each redeemed year—
And waft to heaven our thanks on Seraphs wings.—