 | Sacra Poesis |  |
THE DISCONSOLATE CONSOLED.
And is thy young heart broken,
Thy bright eye veil'd in sadness,
Thy sweet lips—have they spoken
Their last farewell to gladness?
Art thou that child of sorrow
Whose dark To-day is flying
As must be still to-morrow
In loneliness and sighing?
Thy bright eye veil'd in sadness,
Thy sweet lips—have they spoken
Their last farewell to gladness?
5
Whose dark To-day is flying
As must be still to-morrow
In loneliness and sighing?
Thou weeping one, come hither,
For I will tell thee truly
Of hopes that cannot wither,
But bloom for ever newly!
Then cheer thee, child of sorrow,
And look from earth to heav'n,—
For bright shall be thy morrow,
And bliss to thee be given.
For I will tell thee truly
Of hopes that cannot wither,
But bloom for ever newly!
Then cheer thee, child of sorrow,
And look from earth to heav'n,—
For bright shall be thy morrow,
And bliss to thee be given.
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