THE WIDOW AT HER DAUGHTER'S BRIDAL.
��DEAL gently thou, whose hand hath won
The young bird from its nest away, Where careless, 'neath a vernal sun,
She gaily carol'd, day by day ; The haunt is lone, the heart must grieve,
From whence her timid wing doth soar, They pensive list at hush of eve,
Yet hear her gushing song no more.
Deal gently with her, thou art dear,
Beyond what vestal lips have told, And, like a lamb from fountains clear,
She turns confiding to thy fold, She round thy sweet domestic bower
The wreath of changeless love shall twine, Watch for thy step at vesper hour,
And blend her holiest prayer with thine.
Deal gently thou, when, far away,
'Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove,
Nor let thy tender care decay, The soul of woman lives in love :
�� �
