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For on thy heart will press
A thousand memories of thy buried child,
And thou wilt pour thy weepings long and wild,
In utter loneliness.
A thousand memories of thy buried child,
And thou wilt pour thy weepings long and wild,
In utter loneliness.
And, in the time of sleep,
Thou'lt turn to kiss me as thou oft hast done,
But memory will whisper "she is gone,"
And thou wilt wake and weep.
Thou'lt turn to kiss me as thou oft hast done,
But memory will whisper "she is gone,"
And thou wilt wake and weep.
Before my father died,
We dwelt beneath our own bright stately halls,
Round which blue streams and silver fountain- falls
Were seen to glide.
We dwelt beneath our own bright stately halls,
Round which blue streams and silver fountain- falls
Were seen to glide.
There, on the evening breeze
In summer-time, no harsher sound was heard
Than the low flutter of some singing bird,
Startled among the trees.
In summer-time, no harsher sound was heard
Than the low flutter of some singing bird,
Startled among the trees.
And there, beside our hearth,
Thou 'st often knelt and offered up to God
My infant spirit, pure as snow untrod,
And free from taint of earth.
Thou 'st often knelt and offered up to God
My infant spirit, pure as snow untrod,
And free from taint of earth.
But now, how changed thy lot!
Strangers are dwelling in our once bright home,
While thou art pent within this close dark room,
Unaided and forgot.
Strangers are dwelling in our once bright home,
While thou art pent within this close dark room,
Unaided and forgot.
