What now can yield us joy?
"Long years we watched our lovely plant,
With care supplied its every want,
And hoped it long might bloom;
But fierce disease has laid it low,
Reckless of tears that 'round it flow.
And laid it in the tomb.
"Long, long we nursed his fading form,
And strove to shun the gath'ring storm,
Which threaten'd in the sky;