 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
LIFE.
When Hope's fairy fingers are straying
O'er the chords of the youthful heart,
And fancy in prospect displaying
The bliss that new years may impart;
When sweet feelings are ever up-springing,
And the pulses all joyously beat;
When each day a new pleasure is bringing,
O! then indeed life is most sweet.
O'er the chords of the youthful heart,
And fancy in prospect displaying
The bliss that new years may impart;
When sweet feelings are ever up-springing,
And the pulses all joyously beat;
When each day a new pleasure is bringing,
O! then indeed life is most sweet.
When the torch of affection just lighted,
Burns bright on the altar of truth,
Ere the cold, selfish world yet has blighted
One innocent feeling of youth;
When earth seems a garden unfading,
Where flowers spring round our glad feet;
When no cloud our bright heaven is shading,
O! then indeed life is most sweet.
Burns bright on the altar of truth,
Ere the cold, selfish world yet has blighted
One innocent feeling of youth;
When earth seems a garden unfading,
Where flowers spring round our glad feet;
When no cloud our bright heaven is shading,
O! then indeed life is most sweet.
When the cold breath of sorrow is sweeping
O'er the chords of the youthful heart,
And the youthful eye, dimmed with strange weeping,
Sees the visions of fancy depart;
When the bloom of young feeling is dying,
And the heart throbs with passion's fierce strife;
When our sad days are wasted in sighing,—
Who then can find sweetness in life?
O'er the chords of the youthful heart,
And the youthful eye, dimmed with strange weeping,
Sees the visions of fancy depart;
106
And the heart throbs with passion's fierce strife;
When our sad days are wasted in sighing,—
Who then can find sweetness in life?
When unkindness or coldness has faded
The pure, hallowed light of true love,
And the mists of the dark earth have shaded
The dreams that o'er young spirits move;
When earth seems a wide waste of sorrow
No longer with bright blessings rife;
When we look but for clouds on each morrow,—
Who then can find sweetness in life?
The pure, hallowed light of true love,
And the mists of the dark earth have shaded
The dreams that o'er young spirits move;
When earth seems a wide waste of sorrow
No longer with bright blessings rife;
When we look but for clouds on each morrow,—
Who then can find sweetness in life?
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |