Nathaniel A. Haven (1790–1826)

THIS little purse, of silver thread

And silken cords entwined,

Was given, to ease the painful bed,

And soothe the anxious mind.

The maker’s secret bounty flows,

To bid the poor rejoice,

And many a child of sorrow knows

The music of her voice.

The little purse her hands have wrought,

Should bear her image still;

And with her generous feelings fraught,

Her liberal plans fulfil.

Its glittering thread should never daunt

The humble child of wo;

But well the asking eye of want

Its silver spring should know.

While age or youth with misery dwell,

To cold neglect consign’d,

No useless treasures e’er should swell

The purse with silver twined.