Too fearfully adored,
Oh! make not him the chastener of my heart!
I tremble with a sense
Of grief to be; I hear a warning low—
Sweet mother! call me hence!
This wild idolatry must end in woe.
The troubled joy of life,
Love’s lightning happiness, my soul hath known;
And, worn with feverish strife,
Would fold its wings: take back, take back thine own!