To Jemima. Poem by Samuel Bamford

How happy may we be, my love!
How happy may we be,
If we our humble means improve,
My wife, my child, and me.
Our home shall be a turtle's nest,
Where duty, peace, and love,
Shall make its inmates truly blest,
And sorrow far remove.

And if the world upon us frown,
Still peace serene is ours;
It cannot bear the free mind down,
With all its tyrant powers:
For if they bear me far away,
And bind me with a chain,
Our nestling will beside thee stay—
Then do not, love, complain.

But virtue only can endow
With happiness secure;
For virtue learns her vot'ries how
Each trial to endure.
How wretched is the feeble mind
That shrinks at every blast!
Whilst virtue is a bulwark kind,
Enduring to the last.

There fortified, the storms of fate
Around us harmless howl;
No coward terrors they create
To shake the steadfast soul:
We calmly pass through life, my love,
Its blessings we enjoy;
And, when it please the Power above,
Without a murmur die.