As heralds of mercy to comfort and bless,
To place, while the tempest is fearfully loud,
The bright bow of peace on the dark thundercloud,
To whisper of purer and holier ties,
Of a land where the blossom of joy never dies—
Such tidings to welcome, oh! where shall we flee,
If not, dearest Woodburn, to silence and thee?
For ah! did the angel of peace over roam,
On an errand of love, from her own hallowed home,
To gladden a sin-blighted world for awhile,