Than live till wintry tempests lower?
We trust thy sins have been forgiv'n;
Thy soul made pure from guilt's dark stain;
And that a ransom'd soul in heav'n,
Thou'lt raise to God the angelic strain.
Then let no murmuring thought arise,
Though lonely oft my path may be,
And bitter tears oft dim my eyes,
Unbidden, at the thought of thee.
Still the sweet memory of thy love,
Has power to sooth my aching heart;
Even as crush'd and withered flow'rs,
A lasting fragrance oft impart.
To a Friend.
Dear girl, thine eye is clear and bright,
Fill'd with a glad and joyous light;
And thy young brow is pure and fair,
As thou hadst never known a care.
Full oft, I gaze upon thy face,
Where dwells a sweet and quiet grace;
And wonder what thy fate may be,
Upon life's dark and dangerous sea.
Ah, many a rude, tempestous gale,
Perchance, may rend thy little sail,
Ere thou wilt reach that blissful shore,
Where loving friends have gone before.
Even now, sweet girl, young as thou art,
Sorrow hath touched thy loving heart,
And clouds have dimmed thy sky, so fair,
And left a shadow resting there.
Thou'st lost a mother, kind and dear,
No more her sweet voice greets thine ear--
In winning tones, that could impart
Gladness and joy to thy young heart.
No more her gentle hand is laid
In loving kindness on thy head;--
No more her soft eyes rest on thee,
Fill'd with a tender sympathy.
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