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Well, then, may I fondly welcome
This bright morn which gave thee birth;
Well may Autumn's chastened glory
Fairer seem than spring-time's mirth.
This bright morn which gave thee birth;
Well may Autumn's chastened glory
Fairer seem than spring-time's mirth.
Yet, though loved ones cluster round us,
Still, an angel face is near,
A voice upon mine ear is ringing,
Earth no more can ever hear.
Still, an angel face is near,
A voice upon mine ear is ringing,
Earth no more can ever hear.
One sweet flower for us has faded,
The dearest of our infant train;
Yet to this sad world we would not
Recall her, if we could, again.
The dearest of our infant train;
Yet to this sad world we would not
Recall her, if we could, again.
But only pray each year may find us
Nearer to that blessed shore,
Where she is safe from every sorrow,
And we may meet to part no more.
Nearer to that blessed shore,
Where she is safe from every sorrow,
And we may meet to part no more.
E.
October 6, 1853,
