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It is over—but many and many a year
May return to that mother's heart the fear;
And as to the altar she now has turned,
Till the holier faith in her bosom burned,
So, through every mortal change and care,
Must her strength, her comfort, her peace, be prayer.
May return to that mother's heart the fear;
And as to the altar she now has turned,
Till the holier faith in her bosom burned,
So, through every mortal change and care,
Must her strength, her comfort, her peace, be prayer.
VERSES,ON THE ILLNESS OF THE LATE S. AUSTIN. OF LIVERPOOL.
His lovely dreams are over now,
To gaze on nature's smiling face,
With throbbing heart, and kindling brow,
And all her varied charms to trace;
To brush away the morning dews,
And climb the mountain's loftiest height,
And mark the sun's first beam diffuse
On bill and vale its quivering light.
To gaze on nature's smiling face,
With throbbing heart, and kindling brow,
And all her varied charms to trace;
To brush away the morning dews,
And climb the mountain's loftiest height,
And mark the sun's first beam diffuse
On bill and vale its quivering light.
