The Snow-Drop by Sarah S. Mower
page 21 of 120 (17%)
page 21 of 120 (17%)
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Fond parents eyed the group with joy.
But death, who feeds on tears and woe, Beheld this happy youthful hand; Then bade his pale companion go And smite them with his with'ring hand. The son, just launched on manhood's tide, The doating father's prop and stay,-- The tender mother's joy and pride,-- Became the fell destroyer's prey; While tasting bliss without alloy, Thrice happy with his youthful bride. Alas! how frail all mortal joy, When cast on life's tempestuous tide. Hygenia lends her aid in vain,-- No balm can heal his aching breast,-- Nor anxious friends relieve one pain, Or give the sinking suff'rer rest. Patient and uncomplaining still, He smiles and cheers each weeping friend; Faith, love and grief, their bosoms fill, While he draws near his peaceful end. He calmly bids his friends adieu; My lovely bride, he cries, farewell! By faith fair Canaan's land I view, |
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