to M. I. F. on her marriage-day.
I see thee give thyself away—
'Tis done—and thou art his to-day.
Ob! may he keep that sacred gift—
A woman's love: his heart uplift
In one long, fervent, hopeful prayer,
To love, while life is beating there.
And though life's storm may o'er thee lower,
Thou'lt battle with its master-power,
And feel no shadow dark can be
While love lives on, and lives for thee.
It tempers all this world can bring
Of joy, or grief, to living thing.
So my first hope and wish for thee
Is love undying, fervent, free.
May every blessing on thee light,
My dearest Mary;—now, "Good-night."
'Tis done—and thou art his to-day.
Ob! may he keep that sacred gift—
A woman's love: his heart uplift
In one long, fervent, hopeful prayer,
To love, while life is beating there.
And though life's storm may o'er thee lower,
Thou'lt battle with its master-power,
And feel no shadow dark can be
While love lives on, and lives for thee.
It tempers all this world can bring
Of joy, or grief, to living thing.
So my first hope and wish for thee
Is love undying, fervent, free.
May every blessing on thee light,
My dearest Mary;—now, "Good-night."
95
