The change of passing years unfold.
IS THIS A DAY OF DEATH?
Is this a day of death?
The heavens look blithely on the laughing earth,
And from her thousand vales a voice of mirth
And melody is springing; with the breath
Of smiling flowers that lift their joyous heads,
Bright with the radiant tears which evening sheds.
Hath sorrow’s voice been heard
With her low plaint, and broken wail of wo?—