My woe in its bitterness throngs;
Then sing me the old songs, mother,
Then sing me the dear old songs.




TWO LIVES.


Two infants in their cradles lie,
Where lullabies of peace
In gentle strains of tender music die.
And carols never cease.

Two urchins o'er the meadow lands
Are bounding in their plays,
Where sweet enjoyment with angelic hands
Winds gladness o'er the days.

Two boys, where golden fancies bless,
Repose in sunny beams,
And muse away the hours of happiness
On couches made of dreams.

Two men upon a summer sea
Are toiling, brave and strong,
Where pleasures roll their elfin harmony
And labor ends in song.