LOVE'S RENEWAL
LOVE'S sun, like that of day, may set, and set,It hath as bright a rising in the morn.True love has no grey hairs; his golden locksCan never whiten with the snows of time.Sorrow lies drear on many a youthful heart,Like snow upon the evergreens; but loveCan gather sweetest honey by the way,E'en from the carcass of some prostrate grief.—We have been spoiled with blessings. Though the worldHolds nothing dearer than the hope that's fled,God ever opens up new founts of bliss—Spiritual Bethsaidas where the soulCan wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins.We carve our sorrows on the face of joy,Reversing the true image; we are weakWhere strength is needed most, and most is given.
LOVE'S sun, like that of day, may set, and set,It hath as bright a rising in the morn.True love has no grey hairs; his golden locksCan never whiten with the snows of time.Sorrow lies drear on many a youthful heart,Like snow upon the evergreens; but loveCan gather sweetest honey by the way,E'en from the carcass of some prostrate grief.—We have been spoiled with blessings. Though the worldHolds nothing dearer than the hope that's fled,God ever opens up new founts of bliss—Spiritual Bethsaidas where the soulCan wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins.We carve our sorrows on the face of joy,Reversing the true image; we are weakWhere strength is needed most, and most is given.
LOVE'S sun, like that of day, may set, and set,It hath as bright a rising in the morn.True love has no grey hairs; his golden locksCan never whiten with the snows of time.Sorrow lies drear on many a youthful heart,Like snow upon the evergreens; but loveCan gather sweetest honey by the way,E'en from the carcass of some prostrate grief.—We have been spoiled with blessings. Though the worldHolds nothing dearer than the hope that's fled,God ever opens up new founts of bliss—Spiritual Bethsaidas where the soulCan wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins.We carve our sorrows on the face of joy,Reversing the true image; we are weakWhere strength is needed most, and most is given.
LOVE'S sun, like that of day, may set, and set,
It hath as bright a rising in the morn.
True love has no grey hairs; his golden locks
Can never whiten with the snows of time.
Sorrow lies drear on many a youthful heart,
Like snow upon the evergreens; but love
Can gather sweetest honey by the way,
E'en from the carcass of some prostrate grief.—
We have been spoiled with blessings. Though the world
Holds nothing dearer than the hope that's fled,
God ever opens up new founts of bliss—
Spiritual Bethsaidas where the soul
Can wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins.
We carve our sorrows on the face of joy,
Reversing the true image; we are weak
Where strength is needed most, and most is given.