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LINES.
Y love, I brought no wreath of song,Thy last birthmorn to cheer,
For on my heart there seemed to rest
A weight of anxious fear:
I dared not, ere the day was come,
Speak of its joys to thee,
Yet feel, perhaps that morrow's morn
Might never dawn for me.
But now, when God, all-merciful,
Has spared my life once more,
And with fresh hope and gladness made
Our cup of joy run o'er,—
Fain would I tell how gratefully
I feel thy constant love,
Which seems, with every trying hour,
More deep, more true to prove.
Has spared my life once more,
And with fresh hope and gladness made
Our cup of joy run o'er,—
Fain would I tell how gratefully
I feel thy constant love,
Which seems, with every trying hour,
More deep, more true to prove.
Yes, Dearest, if in early days,
When youth and hope were ours,
Thy warm affection seemed the sun
That gladdened earth's best flowers,
When youth and hope were ours,
Thy warm affection seemed the sun
That gladdened earth's best flowers,
