TO MY DEAR MOTHER IN SICKNESS.
Hang not thy harp upon the willow;
Mourn not a brighter, happier day:
But touch the chord, and life's wild billow
Will, shrinking, foam its shame away.
Mourn not a brighter, happier day:
But touch the chord, and life's wild billow
Will, shrinking, foam its shame away.
Then strike the chord and raise the strain
Which brightens that dark clouded brow;
O! beam one sunshine smile again,
And I'll forgive thy sadness now.
Which brightens that dark clouded brow;
O! beam one sunshine smile again,
And I'll forgive thy sadness now.
Though darkness, gloom, and doubt surround thee,
Thy bark, though frail, shall safely ride;
The storm and whirlwind may rage round thee,
But thou wilt all their wrath abide.
Thy bark, though frail, shall safely ride;
The storm and whirlwind may rage round thee,
But thou wilt all their wrath abide.
Hang not thy harp upon the willow
Which weeps o'er every passing wave;
Though life is but a restless pillow,
There's calm and peace beyond the grave.
Which weeps o'er every passing wave;
Though life is but a restless pillow,
There's calm and peace beyond the grave.
