Bells ring out a joyful sound,
Old and young alike seem gay;
One more year has gone its round,
Again we greet a New Year's Day.
Whilst to some they tell of cheer,
Other hearts may grief betide,
For 'twas in the glad New Year
When our darling Cora died.
Like a snowdrop, pure and fair,
She had blossomed in our home;
Her we nursed with tender care,
Lest Death's blighting frost should come.
And we prayed to keep her here,
But our pleading was denied;—
Early in the glad New Year,
Little darling Cora died.
Death had taken some before,
Some from whom 'twas hard to part;
And their voices now no more,
Come to cheer the longing heart.
In that one frail blossom dear,
Centered all our hope and pride;
Alas! Then came the sad New Year,
When our darling Cora died.
Since that time the pealing bells
Wake sad echoes in the heart;
And the grief that in us dwells
Makes the tears unbidden start.
Though they ring so loud and clear,
Flinging gladness far and wide,
They to me recall the year,
When our darling Cora died.
The Violet.
Little simple violet,
Glittering with dewy wet,
Hidden by protecting grass
All unheeded we should pass
Were it not the rich perfume,
Leads us on to find the bloom
Which so modestly does dwell,
Sweetly scenting all the dell.
Simple little violet;—
Lessons I shall ne'er forget
By thy modest mien were taught,—
Rich in peace,—with wisdom fraught.
Oft I've laid me down to rest,
With thy blossoms on my breast;
Screen'd from noontide's sunny flood,
By some monarch of the wood.
I have thought and dreamed of thee,
Clad in such simplicity;
Yet so rich in fragrance sweet,
That exhales from thy retreat;
And I've seen the gaudy flower
Blest alone with beauty's dower;—
Have looked,—admired,—then bid them go,—
Violet,—I love thee so.
Rival, thou hast none to fear,
For to me thou art most dear;—
Buttercups and daisies vie,
'With thy charms to please the eye,
Roses red and lillies white,
All enchanting to the sight;
Yield me joys sincere, but yet
Thou'rt my favorite,—Violet.
Repentant.