Take saffron and goldthread, white poplar and rue,
   They’ve cured the dyspepsia wherever they grew;
   Use clover and nightshade, and drink wintergreen,
   They’ll cure the worst cancer that ever was seen.

   But I have no faith in these simple herb teas
   They never can lessen or cure a disease;
   And do not take pills, nasty powders and drops,
   Till you are filled up like the medical shops.

   Still, something is needful, of that I am sure,
   But I’ve the most faith in the cold water cure;
   ’Twill strengthen, invigorate, open the pores,
   ’Tis curing sick people by dozens and scores.

   Don’t wrap yourself up in that cold dripping sheet,
   I always take cold, only wetting my feet;
   Yet there is an agent which I would apply,
   The red forked lightning which darts through the sky.

   Old Franklin has tamed it and brought it to earth,
   And men are now learning how much it is worth;
   ’Twill dart through the stomach, the heart, and the brain,
   Each pore it will open and drive out the pain.

   Come, quit all this fussing, take rich hearty food,
   And soon, I assure you, your health will be good;
   Leave your warm stifling beds, your soft cushioned chair,
   Run ten miles a day in the cool healthful air.

   If I went thus, moping and lounging about,
   ’Twould bring on dyspepsia, consumption, or gout;
   Now here is good counsel, why will you be shy,
   You’d much better take it than lie down and die.

   CONTENTS.

   The Snow-drop
   My Birth-place
   The Oak and the Rill
   Hymn for a Donation Gathering
   The Marriage Vows
   Lines on the death of Ellen N——­
   An Epitaph
   Lines on the death of R., P.B., C., S., and M.A.  Wing
   The Rose and Lilac Tree
   Lines on the death of Mrs. West
   Thoughts on the sudden death of J.W.N. 
   Reflections on the death of Mr. White
   The Sister’s Lament
   Lines on a Lock of Hair
   Lines on the last hours of Mrs. Judson
   Judson’s Grave
   Lines on a Baptismal Occasion
   The Inquiry
   There is joy in heaven, &c. 
   Jephthah’s Vow
   Like a lost sheep, &c. 
   And the vail of the temple was rent in twain
   Lines to an absent relative
   Lines to the wife of the above
   Come home to New England
   A Sister’s Departure
   A Sister’s Counsel
   Lines to a Friend on parting
   Farewell to a Brother
   To W.H.D, an adopted Brother
   Lines to a Friend in affliction
   Lines to a Sister
   To my Brother
   My Brother in the Tempest
   Lines to an absent Sister
   A Scene on a Sister’s Wedding day
   To the Whippowil
   My harp is on the willows hung, &c. 
   To a Sister, while dangerously ill
   The Invalid’s Dream
   To a Butterfly in my Chamber