To kindly pass over a wound, or a foe
(And mem'ry but part us awhile),
To breathe forth a prayer that His love I may know,
Whose mercies my sorrows beguile,—
If these resolutions are acted up to,
And faith spreads her pinions abroad,
'Twill be sweet when I ponder the days may be few
That waft me away to my God.
Written in girlhood.
O FOR THY WINGS, SWEET BIRD!
But whither wouldst thou rove,
Bird of the airy wing, and fold thy plumes?
In what dark leafy grove
Wouldst chant thy vespers 'mid rich glooms?
Or sing thy love-lorn note—
In deeper solitude, where nymph or saint
Has wooed some mystic spot,
Divinely desolate the shrine to paint?
Yet wherefore ask thy doom?
Blessed compared with me thou art—
Unto thy greenwood home
Bearing no bitter memory at heart;