A folded bud from blossoming thorn,
Save that a soul peeped through.
And many a jocund laugh there rung,
Up from that cottage low,
And glad words sat on many a tongue,
And bliss upon fond bosoms hung,
For there a rill of life had sprung,
Which would forever flow.
One form unseen stood meekly nigh,
Which drew the sunlight there,