Poems.
23
TO MY HEART.
Cease, little flutterer, cease thy motion,
All thy pains will soon be o'er!
Soon thou 'lt leave life's billowy ocean,
And regain a happier shore:
Where no storms will e'er assail thee,
Where thy achings all will cease;
Where no painful pangs can reach thee,
There, my heart, thou 'It rest in peace.
All thy pains will soon be o'er!
Soon thou 'lt leave life's billowy ocean,
And regain a happier shore:
Where no storms will e'er assail thee,
Where thy achings all will cease;
Where no painful pangs can reach thee,
There, my heart, thou 'It rest in peace.
When released from sorrow's feeling,
When thy chords have ceased to beat,
May you find a happier dwelling,
Where fond hearts in union meet.
While this mortal frame enshrines thee,
Pain will ever be thy lot;
Then go, be blest, where smiles await thee,
And all thy errors find a blot.
When thy chords have ceased to beat,
May you find a happier dwelling,
Where fond hearts in union meet.
While this mortal frame enshrines thee,
Pain will ever be thy lot;
Then go, be blest, where smiles await thee,
And all thy errors find a blot.
THE FADING FLOWER.
A mother gazed on her beauteous boy,
And smoothed back his golden hair,
And smoothed back his golden hair,
