How many flowers were mingled in the crown
Thus, with the lovely, to the grave gone down,
E’en when life promised most!
How many hopes have wither’d! They that bow
To heaven’s dread will, feel all its mysteries now.
Did the young mother’s eye
Behold her child, and close upon the day,
Ere from its glance th’ awakening spirit’s ray
In sunshine could reply?
—Then look for clouds to dim the fairest morn!