 | Poems |  |
18
THE LONELY HEART.
Mourn not thou lonely heart, though cruel fateHath left thee friendless, joyless, desolate;
Though one by one thy youth's bright hopes have died,
Though one by one hath fled each dream of pride;
Let not the lamp of faith so dimly burn,
Pour not thy sorrows on a vacant urn.
The world hath scorn'd thee—rent are all its ties,
Mourn not! thou gainest by the sacrifice.
The bird, escap'd from durance, springs on high,
With glad, free pinion, to the summer sky.
So thou, whose sympathies with earth are riven,
Turn with meek resignation unto heaven.
Thy friends are faithless—check the falling tear;
Truth, honour, dwell not in this troubled sphere.
Turn, lonely mourner, turn from earth's dark sod,
To man's best, surest, kindest friend—to God.
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