The Quaker Loves An Ample

Spontaneously To God Should Turn The Soul, Like The Magnetic Needle To The Pole; But What Were That Intrinsic Virtue Worth, Suppose Some Fellow, With More Zeal Than Knowledge, Fresh From St. Andrew's College, Should Nail The Conscious Needle To The North?

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow, Hard And Cold!

The Year's In Wane; There Is Nothing Adorning; The Night Has No Eve, And The Day Has No Morning; Cold Winter Gives Warning!

Jasmine Is Sweet, And Has Many Loves.