And the tear-drop unconsciously flows.
While roving, entranced, ’mid the fairest of scenes.
A cloud o’er our warm glowing hearts will be cast,
If we think of the blossoms, the birds and the streams
That were lovely and loved in the past.
Creator and Father! Oh! teach me to live
With thy precepts divine for my guide,
Oh! let my young bosom thy lessons receive,
And divest it of folly and pride,
That, when this lithe form is decrepit and bent,