What though, through cloud and sunshine,
Bright thoughts around me cling:
Though friends in kindness greet me,
No mother's love they bring.
I see her form before me;
I see the sad, sweet smile;
And yet my heart is lonely,
So lonely, all the while.
Awake or asleep,
Sweet prize above all other:
Close to my heart I'll keep
The likeness of my mother.
NEVER MORE.
FOR MUSIC.
A tear-drop glistened on her cheek,
Then died upon the sand.
With aching heart, as though 'twould break,
She waved her trembling hand.
And as the vessel cleft the foam
And fled the rocky shore,
She sought alone her cottage home
And murmur'd "Never more!"
He ne'er returned. She droopt for him
With all her girlish love;
And oft her thoughts would lightly skim
The sea, like Noah's dove.
But every wave that danced along
Like silver to the shore
Brought back the burden of her song,
And murmur'd "Never more!"
LINES
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. CANON JENKINS, VICAR OF ABERDARE.
If the great heart of Lifetime in unison beats
With Eternity's throb through Infinity's space,
Then our thoughts of thy goodness, which love oft repeats,
May vibrate in thy bosom, though lost be thy face.
Thy life was a martyrdom: noble the part
Of self-abnegation thou playd'st for the Poor;
Whose gratitude fixes thy name in each heart,
Where in Memory's shrine 'twill for ever endure.