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,