poems.
161
ON FINDING SPRING FLOWERS.
Ye flowers! springing up 'mid withered leaves;—
Birds! singing sweetly in your old dear homes;
How sweetly to the spirit that now grieves,
The hope that nature speaks in these scenes conies!
Birds! singing sweetly in your old dear homes;
How sweetly to the spirit that now grieves,
The hope that nature speaks in these scenes conies!
Joys shall arise above the frozen past,
Above the ruins of the sad long years;
We shall behold eternal spring at last
When Time is gone, and heaven's long day appears.
Above the ruins of the sad long years;
We shall behold eternal spring at last
When Time is gone, and heaven's long day appears.
IT IS NOT WHEN MORNING.
It is not when morning;
Bestows her first beam,
That the sky is the fairest
And calmest the stream.
Bestows her first beam,
That the sky is the fairest
And calmest the stream.
The sun doth ascend oft
'Mid gloomiest clouds;
And the depth of their shadow
Earth's beauty enshrouds.
'Mid gloomiest clouds;
And the depth of their shadow
Earth's beauty enshrouds.
In youth, hopes are lovely:
But darkest despair
Eclipses the glory
Of light and life there.
But darkest despair
Eclipses the glory
Of light and life there.
