POEMS.
THERE'S NONE.
In this proud world there's none
But has imbosomed in his inmost heart,
Mem'ries of days now gone,
Which to the kindest fate a gloom impart.
But has imbosomed in his inmost heart,
Mem'ries of days now gone,
Which to the kindest fate a gloom impart.
There's none that never wept,
Nor felt earth's curse. Each bears a secret grief,
That from the world is kept—
Some poignant pang that never finds relief.
Nor felt earth's curse. Each bears a secret grief,
That from the world is kept—
Some poignant pang that never finds relief.
For oft o'er lowly graves,
Where fond and dear ones were forever laid,
The breast in anguish heaves
As loving hands strew flowers o'er the dead.
Where fond and dear ones were forever laid,
The breast in anguish heaves
As loving hands strew flowers o'er the dead.
Through years of toil and strife,
The friends once loved can never be forgot,
The friends once loved can never be forgot,
