To My Dearest Sister, M. Mercy Herrick.

Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befalls Me in mine age, or foreign funerals, This blessing I will leave thee, ere I go: Prosper thy basket and therein thy dough. Feed on the paste of filberts, or else knead And bake the flour of amber for thy bread. Balm may thy trees drop, and thy springs run oil, And everlasting harvest crown thy soil! These I but wish for; but thyself shall see The blessing fall in mellow times on thee.