Sweet as the breeze with its perfumy balm.
And if I am reading the happy Word,
Or saying my prayers by the taper's glow,
I wish that my Harry had _this_ preferr'd
To the painted toys and the men below.

* * * * *

'I wish that my Harry had this preferr'd'--
But ought I to wish it, if he does not?
Has my foolish heart from its duty err'd,
And the soft compliance of love forgot?

There _can_ be no question 'twixt wrong and right;
And surely we all can be brave and strong;
Yet I seem a little perplex'd to-night,
And hardly to know what _is_ right or wrong.

I'm very young to be anyone's wife,
And to know about serious things like these--
Must my little hand touch my husband's life
With a thought of something _more_ than to please?

What shall I do with this ghost of a care
That makes my silly heart flutter and sink?
I will first kneel down and will say a prayer,
And then I'll ask Harry what I should think!