| Poem: |
Oh, deem not they are blest alone
whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
the power who pities man, has shown
a blessing for the eyes that weep.
The light of smiles shall fill again
the lids that overflow with tears;
and weary hours of woe and pain
are promises of happier years.
There is a day of sunny rest
for every dark and troubled night;
and grief may bide an evening guest,
but joy shall come with early light.
And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
sheddest the bitter drops like rain,
hope that a brighter, happier sphere
will give him to thy arms again.
Nor let the good man's trust depart,
though life its common gifts deny,--
though with a pierced and broken heart,
and spurned of men, he goes to die.
For god has marked each sorrowing day
and numbered every secret tear,
and heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
for all his children suffer here.
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