SELF-COMMUNION.
25
“Nay, but ’tis hard to feel that chill
Come creeping o’er the shuddering heart.
Love may be full of pain, but still,
’Tis sad to see it so depart,—
To watch that fire whose genial glow
Was formed to comfort and to cheer,
For want of fuel, fading so,
Sinking to embers dull and drear,—
To see the soft soil turned to stone
For lack of kindly showers,—
To see those yearnings of the breast,
Pining to bless and to be blessed,
Drop withered, frozen one by one,
Come creeping o’er the shuddering heart.
Love may be full of pain, but still,
’Tis sad to see it so depart,—
To watch that fire whose genial glow
Was formed to comfort and to cheer,
For want of fuel, fading so,
Sinking to embers dull and drear,—
To see the soft soil turned to stone
For lack of kindly showers,—
To see those yearnings of the breast,
Pining to bless and to be blessed,
Drop withered, frozen one by one,
