THE PARTED FAMILY.

“Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thy heart; wait, I say, on the Lord.”Psalmxxvii. 14.

Toll not for every joy a parting knell!Say not to every smile, a last farewell!O ye, who mourn in sorrow’s darkest night,Wait on the Lord. He dwells enthron’d in light!His glory can irradiate the gloomOf every heart, whose hopes are in the tomb!There is a power can pierce the darksome cloudWhich overhangs your soul with sable shroud.O, when the soul is lifted up to HeavenBy the meek penitent, who, sorrow-driven,Flies to her Savior God, and stretches highHer supplicating hands in agony,Bearing aloft to Heaven her bleeding heart,In silent eloquence to plead her part;Then comes an influence down, soft, sweet, and still,Like dews of night, on some fair grassy hillParch’d by the noonday sun, whose drooping flowersHold up their heads, and wait the morning hours,To spread their sparkling beauties to the light,And gladden weary mortals with the sight.So comes to those whowait, a potent balmFrom God’s own hand—a spirit-soothing calm,Which strengthens all the heart, and sheds abroadA savor of th’ almighty love of God.So soft, so sweet, so still, its gliding flow,None see its coming, all its presence know.I saw a sufferer once—her wounds were deep,And wide, and deadly, yet she could not weep;But drop by drop her heart’s blood seemed to go,And misery sore drank up her spirit’s flow.Pale grief sat pictured on her woful face,And every movement gave despair a place.Not long she suffer’d thus—she rais’d her eyes,All burning in their anguish, to the skies,With outstretch’d arms and bursting heart she criedTo Him, whose pierced hands and bleeding sideTold of his dying love, “O, pity me!O, pity me! I cast myself on thee!”Was all that she could say; but Jesus heardHer broken cry, and at his sovereign word,Sweet tears came trickling down her marble cheek,And tenderly did angel voices speak:They whisper’d gently in her ravish’d ear,“Jesus is here, sad mourner! Do not fear.”Fast fled the gloom from that o’erclouded brow,And peace stole softly o’er her features now;And a new song was given her to sing,Though all was gone to which her heart could cling,And she a stranger was in that far land,Without a tender mother’s fostering hand,Far from a father’s ever watchful care,Far from a sister’s sympathizing tear—Still could she sing with rapture-beaming eye,Her pallid features brightening joyfully,And Heaven was all her theme. Her voice would ringA grateful anthem to the glorious KingWho conquer’d death, and made the lonely tombSeem a soft resting place, a peaceful home,Where the tired wanderer shuts his weary eyes,And bids a glad farewell to tears and sighs.And O, the soul! she saw in visions bright,The veil withdrawn which hides the world of light,Her eye of faith she raised with fearful joy,Andthey were there—her husband—and her boy!Sweet hope of Heaven! thou art a healing balm;If storms arise, thy deep, rich, holy calm,Comes with a spirit-influence to the breast,And to the weary mourner whispers—rest!Rest—for the fondly loved, the early dead!Rest—for the longing spirit, heavenward fled!Rest—from a tiresome path, in weakness trod!Rest—in the bosom of the Savior, God!Far in the west—the boundless, prairied west,Where nature revels, in her beauty drest,Where roll the waters of that noble stream,“Father of Rivers” called—the poet’s theme!How oft the traveler deems he finds a home,And plants his weary feet, no more to roam,Feasts his delighted eyes on pastures green,Nor dreams a blight can mar the lovely scene!But many there no place of rest may have,Save in one little spot—their early grave!Homes of the west! too oft your precincts proveSad sepulchres of woman’s dearest love;The tombs where lie enshrined her brightest joys,When ruthless death her earthly hope destroys.Bright washerhome whose tale of wo I tell;Hope ever paints her glittering landscape well,And fair the tissues love and fancy show,While joy o’erspreads the whole with radiant glow.But now the scene was changed from earth to Heaven;O’er things below brooded the gloom of even;But an attractive brightness drew her gaze,Where Heaven’s pure light stream’d in effulgent rays.And strangers gazed, and wondered at the sight;Round that lone being glow’d a hallow’d light;Upon her pale thin face a heaven-born smilePlay’d like a sunbeam on some lonely isle.Yet plaintive were her tones in speech or song,Like the low moaning wind the trees among,And you could see her tender heart was riven,And all the love she had, she gave to Heaven.Oft when the god of day had sunk to rest,And twilight lingered in the rosy west,Still would she wander forth with noiseless tread,And by a secret influence, spirit-led,Seek the same spot to which her step would strayWith those she loved—but now, O, where are they?At that soft, holy hour, in days gone by,There might be seen that joyous family,Husband, and wife, and child—’twas all so fairWhere all was love, it made an Eden there!Retired from all the stirring scenes of life,Who look’d so happy as that fair young wife?The hand she loved had raised that vine-clad bower,And o’er it trained full many a fragrant flower;The heart she prized was beating near her side,How throbb’d her own, that moment, in her pride!On a soft grassy seat together there,Her hand in his, the breeze that waved her hairSeem’d not so sweet to that confiding one,As the warm breath of him she gazed upon,As o’er her with a touching smile he bent,And spoke of love, and joy, and sweet content.Her head lay pillow’d on his noble breast;O, that she e’er should lose her place of rest!Her prattling boy was standing at her knee;Clear rang his silver voice in tones of glee,As, shouting to his faithful dog, he cried,“Come, Ralph, get up! I’ll take a little ride!”Then would he strive to mount in mirthful mood,But fractious oft he found his charger rude,Now up, now down, the boy or dog would be,Over and over tumbling playfully.The smiling parents watch their sportive play,Well pleased to see their darling boy so gay;The mother whispers in her husband’s ear,“Is he not beautiful?” she says, “my dear!”“He is a noble boy,” he quick replies,“O, long may he be spared to bless our eyes!“But see! thy mute guitar neglected stands;“Come, dearest, take it in thy willing hands,“And sing to me one of thine own sweet songs,“Surely the need of song to thee belongs.”Thus sweetly urged, she tunes her soft guitar,While the still evening sends her notes afar;Quick at the sound, her music-loving boyStands at her side, partaker of their joy;His playmate too, the shaggy dog, sits by,Observing all with meek obedient eye.And now her fingers sweep the tuneful strings,As thus, with trembling voice, she plaintive sings:Gently, gently, beating heart!Love not earthly things too well;Those who love may quickly part,Sorrow’s waves too soon may swell.Softly, softly, boding fear!Tell me not of fleeting bliss;Ever would I linger here,With a joy so pure as this.Shame thee, shame thee, earthly love!Chain not thus my spirit here;Earth must change, and joy must proveSure precursor of despair.Cheer thee, cheer thee, child of God!Trust in Heaven, and all is well;Come the smile, or fall the rod,Cheer thee, cheer thee, all is well!The pensive song thus ended, all was still;A warning voice had told of coming ill;A big tear gather’d in the mother’s eye,But ere it dropp’d, the father silentlyWiped it away, and kiss’d his wife’s pale cheek,Though not a word could either parent speak.The startled boy, with anxious restless eye,Gazed on each one by turns mysteriously;His quiv’ring lip gave signal of distress,And seem’d to ask, “My mother, what is this?”She who had wrought the spell was troubled too,To see what one foreboding song could do;O, was thereneedto feel her music so?Was this the presage of a coming wo?She play’d again a lively interlude,And sang once more a song of merrier mood;The spell was broken, and blest music’s powerWas felt again in that eventful hour;Bright smiles were seen where gloom had been so late,And burden’d hearts threw off their gathering weight;Unconscious childhood turned again to play,And peace resum’d its own delightful sway.There sits a mourner solitary now,With downcast eyes, and pale dejected brow;Cold is the pillow where she laid her head,When last they sat beneath their favorite shade;Hush’d is the voice which ever to her ownAnswer’d in tones of tenderness alone;Still’d are the merry notes of childish glee,And she is left—of all that family.She looks abroad, and sees no welcome smile;No cheerful sounds her long, long hours beguile;She looks within—and all is mute despair;She looks to Heaven—O, joy! her all is there!Do angels hover o’er that lonely place,Bearing sweet messages of heavenly grace?Do sainted spirits come from Heaven to thoseWhom they have loved on earth, to soothe their woes?See! o’er her face how spreads a kindling ray,She, who must tread alone her weary way.But oft in secret hours her tears must flow,For sweet are tears to hearts o’ercharged with wo.Well, pour them freely forth, they end with night,[1]Bright joy stands waiting for the morning light.A little longer now, and all is won;Thou hast till break of day to struggle on.Poor tired wanderer! gather all thy strength;See, from the east gray morning dawns at length!Hail to the breaking day! one moment more,Tears, sighings, groans, and sorrows, all are o’er.Raise up thy head—bright gleams the morning sun,Hail to thy home in Heaven, poor sorrowing one!

Toll not for every joy a parting knell!

Say not to every smile, a last farewell!

O ye, who mourn in sorrow’s darkest night,

Wait on the Lord. He dwells enthron’d in light!

His glory can irradiate the gloom

Of every heart, whose hopes are in the tomb!

There is a power can pierce the darksome cloud

Which overhangs your soul with sable shroud.

O, when the soul is lifted up to Heaven

By the meek penitent, who, sorrow-driven,

Flies to her Savior God, and stretches high

Her supplicating hands in agony,

Bearing aloft to Heaven her bleeding heart,

In silent eloquence to plead her part;

Then comes an influence down, soft, sweet, and still,

Like dews of night, on some fair grassy hill

Parch’d by the noonday sun, whose drooping flowers

Hold up their heads, and wait the morning hours,

To spread their sparkling beauties to the light,

And gladden weary mortals with the sight.

So comes to those whowait, a potent balm

From God’s own hand—a spirit-soothing calm,

Which strengthens all the heart, and sheds abroad

A savor of th’ almighty love of God.

So soft, so sweet, so still, its gliding flow,

None see its coming, all its presence know.

I saw a sufferer once—her wounds were deep,And wide, and deadly, yet she could not weep;But drop by drop her heart’s blood seemed to go,And misery sore drank up her spirit’s flow.Pale grief sat pictured on her woful face,And every movement gave despair a place.

I saw a sufferer once—her wounds were deep,

And wide, and deadly, yet she could not weep;

But drop by drop her heart’s blood seemed to go,

And misery sore drank up her spirit’s flow.

Pale grief sat pictured on her woful face,

And every movement gave despair a place.

Not long she suffer’d thus—she rais’d her eyes,All burning in their anguish, to the skies,With outstretch’d arms and bursting heart she criedTo Him, whose pierced hands and bleeding sideTold of his dying love, “O, pity me!O, pity me! I cast myself on thee!”Was all that she could say; but Jesus heardHer broken cry, and at his sovereign word,Sweet tears came trickling down her marble cheek,And tenderly did angel voices speak:They whisper’d gently in her ravish’d ear,“Jesus is here, sad mourner! Do not fear.”

Not long she suffer’d thus—she rais’d her eyes,

All burning in their anguish, to the skies,

With outstretch’d arms and bursting heart she cried

To Him, whose pierced hands and bleeding side

Told of his dying love, “O, pity me!

O, pity me! I cast myself on thee!”

Was all that she could say; but Jesus heard

Her broken cry, and at his sovereign word,

Sweet tears came trickling down her marble cheek,

And tenderly did angel voices speak:

They whisper’d gently in her ravish’d ear,

“Jesus is here, sad mourner! Do not fear.”

Fast fled the gloom from that o’erclouded brow,And peace stole softly o’er her features now;And a new song was given her to sing,Though all was gone to which her heart could cling,And she a stranger was in that far land,Without a tender mother’s fostering hand,Far from a father’s ever watchful care,Far from a sister’s sympathizing tear—Still could she sing with rapture-beaming eye,Her pallid features brightening joyfully,And Heaven was all her theme. Her voice would ringA grateful anthem to the glorious KingWho conquer’d death, and made the lonely tombSeem a soft resting place, a peaceful home,Where the tired wanderer shuts his weary eyes,And bids a glad farewell to tears and sighs.

Fast fled the gloom from that o’erclouded brow,

And peace stole softly o’er her features now;

And a new song was given her to sing,

Though all was gone to which her heart could cling,

And she a stranger was in that far land,

Without a tender mother’s fostering hand,

Far from a father’s ever watchful care,

Far from a sister’s sympathizing tear—

Still could she sing with rapture-beaming eye,

Her pallid features brightening joyfully,

And Heaven was all her theme. Her voice would ring

A grateful anthem to the glorious King

Who conquer’d death, and made the lonely tomb

Seem a soft resting place, a peaceful home,

Where the tired wanderer shuts his weary eyes,

And bids a glad farewell to tears and sighs.

And O, the soul! she saw in visions bright,The veil withdrawn which hides the world of light,Her eye of faith she raised with fearful joy,Andthey were there—her husband—and her boy!Sweet hope of Heaven! thou art a healing balm;If storms arise, thy deep, rich, holy calm,Comes with a spirit-influence to the breast,And to the weary mourner whispers—rest!Rest—for the fondly loved, the early dead!Rest—for the longing spirit, heavenward fled!Rest—from a tiresome path, in weakness trod!Rest—in the bosom of the Savior, God!

And O, the soul! she saw in visions bright,

The veil withdrawn which hides the world of light,

Her eye of faith she raised with fearful joy,

Andthey were there—her husband—and her boy!

Sweet hope of Heaven! thou art a healing balm;

If storms arise, thy deep, rich, holy calm,

Comes with a spirit-influence to the breast,

And to the weary mourner whispers—rest!

Rest—for the fondly loved, the early dead!

Rest—for the longing spirit, heavenward fled!

Rest—from a tiresome path, in weakness trod!

Rest—in the bosom of the Savior, God!

Far in the west—the boundless, prairied west,Where nature revels, in her beauty drest,Where roll the waters of that noble stream,“Father of Rivers” called—the poet’s theme!How oft the traveler deems he finds a home,And plants his weary feet, no more to roam,Feasts his delighted eyes on pastures green,Nor dreams a blight can mar the lovely scene!But many there no place of rest may have,Save in one little spot—their early grave!

Far in the west—the boundless, prairied west,

Where nature revels, in her beauty drest,

Where roll the waters of that noble stream,

“Father of Rivers” called—the poet’s theme!

How oft the traveler deems he finds a home,

And plants his weary feet, no more to roam,

Feasts his delighted eyes on pastures green,

Nor dreams a blight can mar the lovely scene!

But many there no place of rest may have,

Save in one little spot—their early grave!

Homes of the west! too oft your precincts proveSad sepulchres of woman’s dearest love;The tombs where lie enshrined her brightest joys,When ruthless death her earthly hope destroys.Bright washerhome whose tale of wo I tell;Hope ever paints her glittering landscape well,And fair the tissues love and fancy show,While joy o’erspreads the whole with radiant glow.

Homes of the west! too oft your precincts prove

Sad sepulchres of woman’s dearest love;

The tombs where lie enshrined her brightest joys,

When ruthless death her earthly hope destroys.

Bright washerhome whose tale of wo I tell;

Hope ever paints her glittering landscape well,

And fair the tissues love and fancy show,

While joy o’erspreads the whole with radiant glow.

But now the scene was changed from earth to Heaven;O’er things below brooded the gloom of even;But an attractive brightness drew her gaze,Where Heaven’s pure light stream’d in effulgent rays.And strangers gazed, and wondered at the sight;Round that lone being glow’d a hallow’d light;Upon her pale thin face a heaven-born smilePlay’d like a sunbeam on some lonely isle.Yet plaintive were her tones in speech or song,Like the low moaning wind the trees among,And you could see her tender heart was riven,And all the love she had, she gave to Heaven.

But now the scene was changed from earth to Heaven;

O’er things below brooded the gloom of even;

But an attractive brightness drew her gaze,

Where Heaven’s pure light stream’d in effulgent rays.

And strangers gazed, and wondered at the sight;

Round that lone being glow’d a hallow’d light;

Upon her pale thin face a heaven-born smile

Play’d like a sunbeam on some lonely isle.

Yet plaintive were her tones in speech or song,

Like the low moaning wind the trees among,

And you could see her tender heart was riven,

And all the love she had, she gave to Heaven.

Oft when the god of day had sunk to rest,And twilight lingered in the rosy west,Still would she wander forth with noiseless tread,And by a secret influence, spirit-led,Seek the same spot to which her step would strayWith those she loved—but now, O, where are they?At that soft, holy hour, in days gone by,There might be seen that joyous family,Husband, and wife, and child—’twas all so fairWhere all was love, it made an Eden there!Retired from all the stirring scenes of life,Who look’d so happy as that fair young wife?The hand she loved had raised that vine-clad bower,And o’er it trained full many a fragrant flower;The heart she prized was beating near her side,How throbb’d her own, that moment, in her pride!On a soft grassy seat together there,Her hand in his, the breeze that waved her hairSeem’d not so sweet to that confiding one,As the warm breath of him she gazed upon,As o’er her with a touching smile he bent,And spoke of love, and joy, and sweet content.Her head lay pillow’d on his noble breast;O, that she e’er should lose her place of rest!Her prattling boy was standing at her knee;Clear rang his silver voice in tones of glee,As, shouting to his faithful dog, he cried,“Come, Ralph, get up! I’ll take a little ride!”Then would he strive to mount in mirthful mood,But fractious oft he found his charger rude,Now up, now down, the boy or dog would be,Over and over tumbling playfully.

Oft when the god of day had sunk to rest,

And twilight lingered in the rosy west,

Still would she wander forth with noiseless tread,

And by a secret influence, spirit-led,

Seek the same spot to which her step would stray

With those she loved—but now, O, where are they?

At that soft, holy hour, in days gone by,

There might be seen that joyous family,

Husband, and wife, and child—’twas all so fair

Where all was love, it made an Eden there!

Retired from all the stirring scenes of life,

Who look’d so happy as that fair young wife?

The hand she loved had raised that vine-clad bower,

And o’er it trained full many a fragrant flower;

The heart she prized was beating near her side,

How throbb’d her own, that moment, in her pride!

On a soft grassy seat together there,

Her hand in his, the breeze that waved her hair

Seem’d not so sweet to that confiding one,

As the warm breath of him she gazed upon,

As o’er her with a touching smile he bent,

And spoke of love, and joy, and sweet content.

Her head lay pillow’d on his noble breast;

O, that she e’er should lose her place of rest!

Her prattling boy was standing at her knee;

Clear rang his silver voice in tones of glee,

As, shouting to his faithful dog, he cried,

“Come, Ralph, get up! I’ll take a little ride!”

Then would he strive to mount in mirthful mood,

But fractious oft he found his charger rude,

Now up, now down, the boy or dog would be,

Over and over tumbling playfully.

The smiling parents watch their sportive play,Well pleased to see their darling boy so gay;The mother whispers in her husband’s ear,“Is he not beautiful?” she says, “my dear!”“He is a noble boy,” he quick replies,“O, long may he be spared to bless our eyes!“But see! thy mute guitar neglected stands;“Come, dearest, take it in thy willing hands,“And sing to me one of thine own sweet songs,“Surely the need of song to thee belongs.”

The smiling parents watch their sportive play,

Well pleased to see their darling boy so gay;

The mother whispers in her husband’s ear,

“Is he not beautiful?” she says, “my dear!”

“He is a noble boy,” he quick replies,

“O, long may he be spared to bless our eyes!

“But see! thy mute guitar neglected stands;

“Come, dearest, take it in thy willing hands,

“And sing to me one of thine own sweet songs,

“Surely the need of song to thee belongs.”

Thus sweetly urged, she tunes her soft guitar,While the still evening sends her notes afar;Quick at the sound, her music-loving boyStands at her side, partaker of their joy;His playmate too, the shaggy dog, sits by,Observing all with meek obedient eye.

Thus sweetly urged, she tunes her soft guitar,

While the still evening sends her notes afar;

Quick at the sound, her music-loving boy

Stands at her side, partaker of their joy;

His playmate too, the shaggy dog, sits by,

Observing all with meek obedient eye.

And now her fingers sweep the tuneful strings,As thus, with trembling voice, she plaintive sings:

And now her fingers sweep the tuneful strings,

As thus, with trembling voice, she plaintive sings:

Gently, gently, beating heart!Love not earthly things too well;Those who love may quickly part,Sorrow’s waves too soon may swell.

Gently, gently, beating heart!

Love not earthly things too well;

Those who love may quickly part,

Sorrow’s waves too soon may swell.

Softly, softly, boding fear!Tell me not of fleeting bliss;Ever would I linger here,With a joy so pure as this.

Softly, softly, boding fear!

Tell me not of fleeting bliss;

Ever would I linger here,

With a joy so pure as this.

Shame thee, shame thee, earthly love!Chain not thus my spirit here;Earth must change, and joy must proveSure precursor of despair.

Shame thee, shame thee, earthly love!

Chain not thus my spirit here;

Earth must change, and joy must prove

Sure precursor of despair.

Cheer thee, cheer thee, child of God!Trust in Heaven, and all is well;Come the smile, or fall the rod,Cheer thee, cheer thee, all is well!

Cheer thee, cheer thee, child of God!

Trust in Heaven, and all is well;

Come the smile, or fall the rod,

Cheer thee, cheer thee, all is well!

The pensive song thus ended, all was still;A warning voice had told of coming ill;A big tear gather’d in the mother’s eye,But ere it dropp’d, the father silentlyWiped it away, and kiss’d his wife’s pale cheek,Though not a word could either parent speak.

The pensive song thus ended, all was still;

A warning voice had told of coming ill;

A big tear gather’d in the mother’s eye,

But ere it dropp’d, the father silently

Wiped it away, and kiss’d his wife’s pale cheek,

Though not a word could either parent speak.

The startled boy, with anxious restless eye,Gazed on each one by turns mysteriously;His quiv’ring lip gave signal of distress,And seem’d to ask, “My mother, what is this?”She who had wrought the spell was troubled too,To see what one foreboding song could do;O, was thereneedto feel her music so?Was this the presage of a coming wo?She play’d again a lively interlude,And sang once more a song of merrier mood;The spell was broken, and blest music’s powerWas felt again in that eventful hour;Bright smiles were seen where gloom had been so late,And burden’d hearts threw off their gathering weight;Unconscious childhood turned again to play,And peace resum’d its own delightful sway.

The startled boy, with anxious restless eye,

Gazed on each one by turns mysteriously;

His quiv’ring lip gave signal of distress,

And seem’d to ask, “My mother, what is this?”

She who had wrought the spell was troubled too,

To see what one foreboding song could do;

O, was thereneedto feel her music so?

Was this the presage of a coming wo?

She play’d again a lively interlude,

And sang once more a song of merrier mood;

The spell was broken, and blest music’s power

Was felt again in that eventful hour;

Bright smiles were seen where gloom had been so late,

And burden’d hearts threw off their gathering weight;

Unconscious childhood turned again to play,

And peace resum’d its own delightful sway.

There sits a mourner solitary now,With downcast eyes, and pale dejected brow;Cold is the pillow where she laid her head,When last they sat beneath their favorite shade;Hush’d is the voice which ever to her ownAnswer’d in tones of tenderness alone;Still’d are the merry notes of childish glee,And she is left—of all that family.She looks abroad, and sees no welcome smile;No cheerful sounds her long, long hours beguile;She looks within—and all is mute despair;She looks to Heaven—O, joy! her all is there!

There sits a mourner solitary now,

With downcast eyes, and pale dejected brow;

Cold is the pillow where she laid her head,

When last they sat beneath their favorite shade;

Hush’d is the voice which ever to her own

Answer’d in tones of tenderness alone;

Still’d are the merry notes of childish glee,

And she is left—of all that family.

She looks abroad, and sees no welcome smile;

No cheerful sounds her long, long hours beguile;

She looks within—and all is mute despair;

She looks to Heaven—O, joy! her all is there!

Do angels hover o’er that lonely place,Bearing sweet messages of heavenly grace?Do sainted spirits come from Heaven to thoseWhom they have loved on earth, to soothe their woes?See! o’er her face how spreads a kindling ray,She, who must tread alone her weary way.But oft in secret hours her tears must flow,For sweet are tears to hearts o’ercharged with wo.

Do angels hover o’er that lonely place,

Bearing sweet messages of heavenly grace?

Do sainted spirits come from Heaven to those

Whom they have loved on earth, to soothe their woes?

See! o’er her face how spreads a kindling ray,

She, who must tread alone her weary way.

But oft in secret hours her tears must flow,

For sweet are tears to hearts o’ercharged with wo.

Well, pour them freely forth, they end with night,[1]Bright joy stands waiting for the morning light.A little longer now, and all is won;Thou hast till break of day to struggle on.Poor tired wanderer! gather all thy strength;See, from the east gray morning dawns at length!Hail to the breaking day! one moment more,Tears, sighings, groans, and sorrows, all are o’er.Raise up thy head—bright gleams the morning sun,Hail to thy home in Heaven, poor sorrowing one!

Well, pour them freely forth, they end with night,[1]

Bright joy stands waiting for the morning light.

A little longer now, and all is won;

Thou hast till break of day to struggle on.

Poor tired wanderer! gather all thy strength;

See, from the east gray morning dawns at length!

Hail to the breaking day! one moment more,

Tears, sighings, groans, and sorrows, all are o’er.

Raise up thy head—bright gleams the morning sun,

Hail to thy home in Heaven, poor sorrowing one!

July, 1840.

FOOTNOTE

[1]“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

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