Poems.
87
Oh, may thy heart, so formed to bless,
E'er meet the fond and warm caress
Of sweet confiding love;
And may thy swiftly fleeting hours,
Be ever marked with choicest flowers,
Till called to realms above.
E'er meet the fond and warm caress
Of sweet confiding love;
And may thy swiftly fleeting hours,
Be ever marked with choicest flowers,
Till called to realms above.
And when thy journey here is past,
And death's stern mission comes at last,
To take thee from the earth,
Oh, may'st thou reach that unknown shore,
Those blessed regions to explore,
That home of thy spirit's birth.
And death's stern mission comes at last,
To take thee from the earth,
Oh, may'st thou reach that unknown shore,
Those blessed regions to explore,
That home of thy spirit's birth.
THE POET'S LOT.
Oh, would'st thou know the-poet's lot,
Their hopes, with all their fears,
The changing glow, the burning pulse,
Tempered with sighs and tears.
Their hopes, with all their fears,
The changing glow, the burning pulse,
Tempered with sighs and tears.
Though flowers may seem to deck their path,
And sunshine gild each hour,
Yet clouds will often on them press,
And thorns make known their power.
And sunshine gild each hour,
Yet clouds will often on them press,
And thorns make known their power.
