Poems (Truesdell)/Lines written for an Album

by Helen Truesdell

LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM.

To write a few lines in your Album, my friend,
Shall engross a few moments my thoughts and my pen:
But in these few moments—oh, what shall I say?
Where shall I begin, or where leave off, I pray?

In the first place, I'll speak of the wind and the weather,
With its clouds, and its storms, and its sunshine together;
'Tis a picture of life,—all a moral may glean
From each withering flower and murmuring stream.

Oh! the dreams of my childhood were brilliant and gay;
But, like perishing flowers, they faded away:
Like perishing flowers, they were born but to bloom,
Then wither, and die, and sink in the tomb.

So bright were my visions, I oft would retreat
To some lovely fountain, with flowers at my feet,
And there such fair dreams of happiness frame
As are known in this cold selfish world but by name.

But ere eighteen brief summers had passed o'er my brow,
The hope of my heart in the grave was laid low:
Since then, who can tell, who can dare to divine,
The sorrows and cares that have ever been mine?

Thou too, dearest friend, a deep sorrow hast known;
But I trust from thy spirit forever it's flown:
May the fair hopes that linger and dwell round thee yet,
Soothe every sorrow and soften regret!

May thy son, like the oak, the forest's proud tree,
Be a shelter, protection, and comfort to thee!
May thy daughters be gentle, obedient, and kind,
And possess every grace both of person and mind!