 | Beads from a Rosary |  |
30
THE GRIEF OF THE LOVING.
Our beautiful has bowed her head,
Low stricken by lingering pain,
Like some fair flower that's beat to earth,
By drops of stormy rain:
A shadow on her brow has fallen,
And dimmed her eyes' soft light,
And from her lip has stol'n the smile
That gave all hearts delight;—
Come back, oh blessed health, come back—
Resume thy wonted power—
Come back, like sunshine thro' the clouds
To the rain-beaten flower.
Low stricken by lingering pain,
Like some fair flower that's beat to earth,
By drops of stormy rain:
A shadow on her brow has fallen,
And dimmed her eyes' soft light,
And from her lip has stol'n the smile
That gave all hearts delight;—
Come back, oh blessed health, come back—
Resume thy wonted power—
Come back, like sunshine thro' the clouds
To the rain-beaten flower.
31
Come back, we fain would hear once more
The merry laugh of old;
We sit in silence and in fear,
The while each heart grows cold;
We pray with fervent prayers each night,
That God's dear love may bring
His quiet sleep to lull her frame,
And soothe her suffering.
Each night, each day, we pray the same,
That he for aye may shower
His choicest blessings from above
Upon our cherished flower.
The merry laugh of old;
We sit in silence and in fear,
The while each heart grows cold;
We pray with fervent prayers each night,
That God's dear love may bring
His quiet sleep to lull her frame,
And soothe her suffering.
Each night, each day, we pray the same,
That he for aye may shower
His choicest blessings from above
Upon our cherished flower.
And soon, oh very soon, we trust
The smile will come again,
And from the young fair forehead pass
The shadow and the pain;
And soon, oh very soon, perchance
The laugh we yearn to hear,
With its low, murmuring melody,
Will once more greet our ear;
Soon—oh what glad and grateful hearts
Will welcome that dear hour,
That gives us, in her beauty back,
Our pale and drooping flower.
The smile will come again,
And from the young fair forehead pass
The shadow and the pain;
And soon, oh very soon, perchance
The laugh we yearn to hear,
With its low, murmuring melody,
Will once more greet our ear;
32
Will welcome that dear hour,
That gives us, in her beauty back,
Our pale and drooping flower.
| Beads from a Rosary | |