150
poems.
Whose hearts no ark of rest discern,Whither the fluttering dove may turn,—
They who from childhood's earliest dayHave seen each brilliant hope decay,—These, these alone the fountains knowWhence streams of blessed healing flow.
Yes! fortune's frown, the altered gazeOf those who shared our brightest days,The weary day, the anxious nightScarce gloomier e'en than morning light,—
Like gentlest messengers they comeTo guide us to our unseen home.Strength from their mingling might is givenTo tread life's pilgrim path to heaven.
Thanks for the sunlight of our lot;Be not its Gracious Fount forgot:Yet shall our holiest praise arise,When He withdraws it from our eyes.
