A whisper floated near me in accents sweet and low,
"My child, what'er thy portion, if tares for thee will grow,
Thy soul keep pure and stainless, a crown thy brow shall wear,
'Twill shine with whitest tresses, that once was nut-brown hair."




~Life's Curtain Unrolled.~


Glad boyish voices with merriment ring,
Two children with nought, as gayly they sing
Of burdensome care, their hearts as the bird
To mountains oft' soar in freedom, unstirred
By future, and what it furtively brings
Of pleasures, or grief, or life's bitter stings.
The shadowed cross e'er failing to see,
Thoughts flitting as bubbles on oft' changing sea.

From childhood spring youths with fair open brows,
Surrounded by all earth ever allows
Of conquering fame, while life's deepest charm
They sip from the fount of love's laden balm.
Of treasures untold to reap they aspire,
At vanity's fair rich harvests acquire,
Over this vision in mystery toss,
A shadow that lifts, unveiling a cross.

In wonder they gaze at spectre so white,