Jane Taylor (1783 – 1824)
English poet and novelist.
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Far from mortal cares retreating,
Sordid hopes and vain desires,
Here, our willing footsteps meeting,
Every heart to heaven aspires.
Though man a thinking being is defined,
Few use the grand prerogative of mind.
How few think justly of the thinking few!
How many never think, who think they do!
I thank the goodness and the grace
Which on my birth have smiled,
And made me in these Christian days,
A happy English child.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are,
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky!
Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My mother.
Oh that it were my chief delight
To do the things I ought!
Then let me try with all my might
To mind what I am taught.
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