Poems.
57
May joy's bright sunshine gild thy pathway here,
Though thorns and flowers alternate we may meet,
Be thine to crush the thorns beneath thy feet:
May the pure stream of fond affection flow
In one deep channel, with a fervent glow.
If, as we hope, the spirits of the just,
Look from their bright abode on us, but dust,
O! may thy friends, from yonder realms of light,
Hover, unseen, around thy form to-night,
And bless, with Heaven, this deeply solemn rite.
Though thorns and flowers alternate we may meet,
Be thine to crush the thorns beneath thy feet:
May the pure stream of fond affection flow
In one deep channel, with a fervent glow.
If, as we hope, the spirits of the just,
Look from their bright abode on us, but dust,
O! may thy friends, from yonder realms of light,
Hover, unseen, around thy form to-night,
And bless, with Heaven, this deeply solemn rite.
LITTLE FANNY.
Mother! (cred a little girl,)
Why do you look so sad?
And you shed so many tears,
While I, am always glad.
I cannot think the reason
You seem so dull of late;
Will you tell me, mother dear,
Why is this gloomy stat e?
You know, my Fanny dearest,
How hard I've had to toil;
Day after day unceasing,
And by the midnight oil:
Why do you look so sad?
And you shed so many tears,
While I, am always glad.
I cannot think the reason
You seem so dull of late;
Will you tell me, mother dear,
Why is this gloomy stat e?
You know, my Fanny dearest,
How hard I've had to toil;
Day after day unceasing,
And by the midnight oil:
