Zinzendorff, and other poems | ||
DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
We had a Rose,—its breast
Was bright with pearly dew,
Nor blight, nor time had stain'd the flower,
Yet it sank away from its cherish'd bower,
It faded where it grew.
Was bright with pearly dew,
Nor blight, nor time had stain'd the flower,
Yet it sank away from its cherish'd bower,
It faded where it grew.
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We had a Harp,—'tis gone,
We will not say 'tis broken,—
No—no,—its tones are deep and high,
Where music wraps in melody,
Each thought by angels spoken.
We will not say 'tis broken,—
No—no,—its tones are deep and high,
Where music wraps in melody,
Each thought by angels spoken.
Zinzendorff, and other poems | ||