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79

Acrostic for 1848

Exactly forty-three years passed away
Leave me a wonder to this present day.
In perils oft, afflictions target still
Soon I must stop, just at my Makers will;
And pass the silent, solemn, final, test
Be it for worse, but hoping for the best
Enter that land, where none awhile sojourns
There, to this transitory life returns
Hard was my lot, yet mercies still abound
Better, perhaps, than better ones have found.
Rough, tho' my path of life has ever been
Exclude from the sweets that health has seen
Vainly attempting to mislead my way
An cause in devious wilds of vice to stray.
Resolved I am thro' grace to make a stand
Depending safely on the Almightly's hand.

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Transcribed by J. J. B. Aug. 27th 1858- composed by T. B. for my
Mother.