195
SONNET.
N health, or when beneath the feeblenessOf recent suffering, mind and body bow,
Still, dearest, would I strive alike as now,
With faltering tongue thy natal morn to bless:
And as I think of all thy tenderness,
In health or sickness, joy and grief the same,
And watch our dear ones fondly round thee press,
Thy loving smile and warm caress to claim,—
No marvel if with swelling heart I pray,
That choicest blessings thine and theirs may be,
And bless the gracious Hand that gave to me
A love like thine to cheer mine onward way.
Oh, what were earth without that love of youth?
Life shows its faithfulness—Death only proves its truth.
E.
October 6, 1847.
