The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince :: :: University of Virginia Library

The traveller in desert lands,
Amid the inhospitable sands,
Pines for the limpid stream;
With parching lip, and throbbing brow,
He feels its priceless value now,
And makes it all his dream.

So I, departed wife, perceive
More clearly now the things that grieve
My lone and widowed breast;
Thy presence gone, thy trials o'er,
I feel thy value more and more,
And know nor joy nor rest.

Morn has no cheerfulness for me,
At noon I find no sympathy,
No balsam for my woes;
When evening comes, I sit and pine
For the calm comfort that was mine,
And night brings no repose.

Friends may be kind, and children true,
Striving my sorrows to subdue,
And lighten my distress;
But nought can match thy faithful zeal,
Thy interest in my worldly weal,
Thy household watchfulness.

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Who shall console with kindly voice,
Who shall rejoice when I rejoice,
So truthfully as thou?
Alas! I little thought to bear
The gloom, despondency, and care,
Which weigh upon me now.

Time may assuage these pangs of mine,
But my sad soul can ne'er resign
Fond memories there impressed;
But here I bow me to the rod,
And trust that in the realms of God
Thou art received and blest.