Play up, sweet music, to the ear, A merry note of gladness;-- The chords that lively stricken cheer, Give also tones of sadness.
Shine bright, young Summer, o'er the earth, And fill the land with laughter;-- Soon Autumn comes to mar thy mirth, And winter follows after.
Burn high, fair hope, within the breast, By pleasant things attended;-- Misdoubt and fear do still molest Our life, till it is ended.
Fill slow, oh! Time, the rounded cup Of numbered hours that's set us; Soon shall our days be gathered up, And even our own forget us.
Then shine, fair sun, on vale and hill, On tower and town and meadow;-- 'Tis Heaven that sends the brightness still, Earth only gives the shadow.
_On my youngest Daughter, died 20th March 1845, aged twenty-one months._
SHE rests within her little grave, A bud of promise too soon taken, And wanting the sweet smile she gave, We deem ourselves as if forsaken.
Life wore for her no luring guise, She tasted time, and found it dreary, Calmly she closed her gentle eyes, As one that falls asleep aweary:
Like to a star whose little ray Is quenched ev'n when 'tis brightly shining; Or as a flower that fades away While yet its bloom tells nought of pining.
And when her latest sigh was spent, And fled her spirit to its Giver, We felt as with it also went A lapsed part of our heart for ever.
Oh! twice before we knew the blight Upon the heart that deeply falleth, When death for ever from the sight, Of our own life a portion calleth:
But though it has the power to slay, Still is this consolation given, It cannot take the hope away That we shall meet again in heaven.
There is a place of rest above, A home for children there provided, To which away from earth, in love Their guileless spirits still are guided.
And when our hearts with sorrow sink And our weak eyes are sore with weeping, 'Twill soothe and cheer us still to think That they sweet watch are o'er us keeping.
And in the dark and lonely night, When sleep our eyelids have forsaken, We'll see again the faces bright Of our three babes so early taken.
MOURN for the untimely dead! Early blossoms quickly shed! Soon taken to their long long rest, Now there waves The green grass thickly o'er their breast, On their graves.