Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer.
They in the radiance of its glancing eyes
See nothing to suffuse with their own tears!
Borne forward on the easy wing of Time,
They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought,
Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by,
His shadow rests one instant, and again
The scene is calm and brilliant as before!
Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death,
Were busy with the residue of peace,