Sad separation’s bitter pang must dim with burning tears—
Like some lone beacon’s glimmering ray the star of hope shall be,
To guide the bark by tempest driven o’er life’s dark, troubled sea.
The cherished love of early years say not she can forget,
That springs in youth’s fresh vernal prime, and with its tears are wet;
Its tender buddings crushed may be, and blighted its return,
Its wasted fragrance lingers still around its broken urn.
When time shall fade youth’s glowing charms, its joy and romance fled,
Love’s purest flame is shining o’er the altar of the dead—
Through desert paths and weary of life’s ever-changing day,