To The Same.

TO THE SAME.

NOT every gem a diamond proves, Nor every bud a rose; Nor know we as life onward moves, What future days disclose.

Fair Celia when an infant mild, Bright hopes her dawn bespoke; But oft the promise of the child, Maturer age has broke.

In Celia numerous virtues shone, Each were at generous strife; Which most adorning we should own, In Celia's varied life.

And magnanimity was there, And resignation mild; That firmly could her evils bear, Or thro' her tears they smil'd.

And see the generous virtues soar, In Celia's happier days; Soft sympathy to help the poor, And the dejected raise.

Hopes which her infant spring had mov'd, Meridian days disclose; And every gem a diamond prov'd, And every bud a rose.