O, WILD IS THY JOY.

O wild is thy joy,[2]
My affectionate boy,
What visions of fancy come o'er thee?
Thy spirit so proud,
Thy laughter so loud—
What transports are glit'ring before thee?

Dost think of a day
Thou mayst ramble and play,
O'er the meadows, the forests, and mountains?
Or in the sweet vale,
'Mong the lilies so pale,
By the side of the rills and the fountains?

Some glim'rings of thought
Perchance thou hast caught,
While thy spirit within thee rejoices,
Some simple delight,
Some object of sight
Or sound in the mingling of voices.

O, brief is thy mirth,
For the visions of earth,
Like the shadows of noon-day, are flying:
But joys that are pure,
Shall forever endure,
Though earth and its transports are dying.