Or by some holy death-bed dear,
Most welcome to the chasten’d ear
Of her whom Heaven is teaching how to mourn.
O cheerful, tender strain! the heart
That duly bears with you its part,
Singing so thankful to the dreary blast,
Though gone and spent its joyous prime,
And on the world’s autumnal time
'Mid withered hues, and sere, its lot be cast,
That is the heart for thoughtful seer,