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EPITHALAMIUM.
Bright be the day, and fair the hour,
When, yielding to thy gentle power,
Around thine altar, Love! we stand,
To form a high and sacred hand!
Yes, here our youngest flower is come,
To seek a new and dearer home;
With virgin smiles, and heart elate,
To seal with one small ring her fate;
Her lover's daily lot to share,
To bless his board, his hearth, his prayer,
And to refine and raise his heart,
By the pure joy those smiles impart.
And he—protection, care, and love,
In glad return 't is his to prove,
Her wish foresee, her sorrow soothe,
And guard with tender hand her youth;
Her joys and griefs through life to rest
Upon one sympathising breast.
When, yielding to thy gentle power,
Around thine altar, Love! we stand,
To form a high and sacred hand!
Yes, here our youngest flower is come,
To seek a new and dearer home;
With virgin smiles, and heart elate,
To seal with one small ring her fate;
Her lover's daily lot to share,
To bless his board, his hearth, his prayer,
And to refine and raise his heart,
By the pure joy those smiles impart.
And he—protection, care, and love,
In glad return 't is his to prove,
Her wish foresee, her sorrow soothe,
And guard with tender hand her youth;
Her joys and griefs through life to rest
Upon one sympathising breast.
