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Each tossing billow seems
To break with lighter spray,
And sparkling in the morning beams,
To wish thee joy to-day.
To break with lighter spray,
And sparkling in the morning beams,
To wish thee joy to-day.
Fond fancies these may be,
Yet 'tis the echoing heart
That makes the same deep melody,
Sorrow or joy impart.
Yet 'tis the echoing heart
That makes the same deep melody,
Sorrow or joy impart.
And e'en the mournful swell
Of yonder lonely sea,
At this glad hour can only tell
Of hope and bliss to me.
Of yonder lonely sea,
At this glad hour can only tell
Of hope and bliss to me.
Oh, Dearest! may each year
That yet for thee shall rise,
But find thee with fresh blessings here,
And nearer to the skies;
That yet for thee shall rise,
But find thee with fresh blessings here,
And nearer to the skies;
And every passing wave,
Of life's eventful sea,
Touched with that light earth never gave,
Melt into peace for thee.
Of life's eventful sea,
Touched with that light earth never gave,
Melt into peace for thee.
E.
Hythe, October 6, 1852.
