Thick shadowy woods, where many a voice of song
Gladdens the hours, as fast they flit along;
No care to mar their brightness, and no gloom
To whisper “onward, onward to the tomb”—
Bright Youth and Hope, by Grace and Beauty’s side,
No look of scorn—no air of worm-like pride,
No voice of woe, to pain the spirit ear—
No orphan’s cry—no widow’s heart-wrung tear—
No secret fear, to chill the hour of bliss,
No hollow heart—no false or Judas kiss—