This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

189

Yet she had broke another's hope, and left the true and tried,
And made herself a sacrifice to splendor and to pride.

I saw a lone and wretched hut, and it looked cold and poor,
An aged and a helpless form sat shivering at the door;
Her fire was low, her comforts few, I looked with pity there,
And thought to see a face cast down with sadness and despair;
Her eye was bright, her smile was kind, and as she worked she sung,
And cheered herself with hymns of praise, as slow she crept along.

And then I felt that life was not what it might seem to lie:
That faith and patience are sweet fruits, that spring from misery;
And that the Christian's glorious hope can brighten every scene,
And, in the dark and anguished hour,shed gleams of joy between.
The mother had a hope in death—the lonely one was blest,
But the bride, in all her splendor, had not found the Christian's rest.