10
THE DYING GIRL.
Beside the streams soft-gleaming 'mid the flowers
And rainbow-groves of Eden's blessed bowers,
And there I shall behold our mother's face,
And she will clasp me in her dear embrace!
And rainbow-groves of Eden's blessed bowers,
And there I shall behold our mother's face,
And she will clasp me in her dear embrace!
And yet, oh yet, it grieves my heart, dear love.
To leave thee here, a young and tender dove
Lone-wandering o'er life's waters cold and dark,
Ne'er to find rest save in God's holy ark,
But there, when Time's wild storms at last shall cease
Thy weary pinions will repose in peace
And their bright plumage never more be cast
All tram and scattered on the bitter blast.
To leave thee here, a young and tender dove
Lone-wandering o'er life's waters cold and dark,
Ne'er to find rest save in God's holy ark,
But there, when Time's wild storms at last shall cease
Thy weary pinions will repose in peace
And their bright plumage never more be cast
All tram and scattered on the bitter blast.
******
I'm musing now, my sister, on the time,
When we in our own dear, our native clime,
With our sweet mother in our childhood dwelt,
Gay as the singing birds, and never felt
The care, the grief, the agony, the strife.
That lurk like fiends along the paths of life.
When we in our own dear, our native clime,
With our sweet mother in our childhood dwelt,
Gay as the singing birds, and never felt
The care, the grief, the agony, the strife.
That lurk like fiends along the paths of life.
