A Mother's love!—Go ask the buds that live
By heaven's pure dew on yonder parching hill,
Ask the pale flower that summer suns revive,
For some faint emblem of that holy thrill;
The fickle dews may shun the plant that pines,
The lofty Sun forget the flowery glen,—
A Mother's love with death alone declines,—
And say ye white robed angels—dies it then?
HOPE AND MEMORY.
Sweet friend of man!—whose airy form,
With eye of azure ray,
Is seen through every gathering storm,
Companion of his way,
Thou, on his infant lip dost press
Thy signet with a smile,
And on through nature's weariness
His pilgrimage beguile.
When disappointments wake regret,
Or dangers threaten loud,
He scarce can shrink, ere thou dost set
Thy rainbow on the cloud.
He scarce can weep, ere thou art nigh
To prism the falling tear,
To snatch the half unutter'd sigh
And paint thy visions clear.
