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Oh thus to wear away my useful life,
And, when I'm call'd, in rapturous hope to die, Thus to rob heaven of all the good I can, And challenge earth to show a happier man!
THE MOTHER'S LAMENT.
My own little darling dead!
No more to my yearning breast
Shall my fair darling rest:
Alas, for that dear glaz'd eye,
Those lips so soft,
Alas, little frocks and toys,
Have I not treasure
O harrowing sight to behold
That small cherish'd form
Deep in the charnel-mould!
Yes, - welcome pain, which Thou hast sent,Yes, - farewell blessings, Thou hast lent,
With Thee alone I rest content,
For Thou art Heav'n,
The pale narcissus tells of youth
What is a flower? a beauteous gem
A sunbeam o'er her tresses flung,
A plaything of Omnipotence;-
To learn, and love, and praise, and please.
It is most genial to a soul refined,
When love can smile unblushing, unconcealed, When mutual thoughts, and words, and acts are kind, And inmost hopes and feelings are revealed; When interest, duty, trust, together bind,
And the heart's deep affections are unsealed, When for each other live the kindred pair, — Here is indeed a picture passing fair!
Hail, happy state! which few have heart to sing,