Gleam above our dying bed,
When the Day of life declining,
Tells us that its toil has sped.
MELANCHOLY.
There comes a time for flowers to fade, and light to die in gloom,
There is a time for mortal bliss to know a certain doom.
Sometimes I feel that I have reached that hour, and I have felt,
When pondering o'er the dreary change, my spirit in me melt.