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THE BIRD OF SONG.
As a sweet strain of music floats over the water,
And dies on the air, still to live in the heart,
Even so the young beauty of earth's fairest daughter,
Though gone, still can gladness impart;
For Memory keeps every good influence green,
And fair faces dead are vet never unseen.
And dies on the air, still to live in the heart,
Even so the young beauty of earth's fairest daughter,
Though gone, still can gladness impart;
For Memory keeps every good influence green,
And fair faces dead are vet never unseen.
THE BIRD OF SONG.
O'er life's dim and shadowy sea,
I have heard men say,
Flies a sweet bird constantly,
Singing all the way.
Come, bird of Hope, to me!
I will ope my heart to thee;
Come, and with thy melody
Bid the waves be gay!
I have heard men say,
Flies a sweet bird constantly,
Singing all the way.
Come, bird of Hope, to me!
I will ope my heart to thee;
Come, and with thy melody
Bid the waves be gay!
Eyes are coldly turned on me,
That should beam in love;
And their haunting glance I see
Wheresoe'er I move.
Come, sweet bird of Song, to me,
Come and sing unceasingly!
I will dream, in hearing thee,
Of the eves above.
That should beam in love;
And their haunting glance I see
Wheresoe'er I move.
Come, sweet bird of Song, to me,
Come and sing unceasingly!
I will dream, in hearing thee,
Of the eves above.
