SONG.

My love is no gay, dashing maid, With rosy cheeks and golden curls, Nor high-born lady well arrayed In glittering diamonds and pearls. Yet she is a lovely, loving wife, Who can blithely sing while working well; And so happy is our married life, That I on its pleasures fondly dwell. O my love is no gay, dashing maid, But a wife in matronly worth, arrayed.

I've seen young girls of beauty rare, With ruby lips and sparkling eyes, Use all their charms to form a snare By which to carry off a prize. I've noted the wedded life of such, Oft finding them slatterns void of love; And none need wonder so very much If I value high my turtle dove. For she is no vain, dashing maid, But a wife in matronly worth, arrayed.

Through years of matrimonial care, And constant toil from day to day, To me her face has still been fair, As if her charms would ne'er decay. And our house is full of girls and boys, The pledges sweet of a sacred love, Sent to keep young and bright the joys Which many with wealth oft fail to prove. O my love is no gay, dashing maid, But a wife in matronly worth, arrayed.