"My Douglass! my darling!--there once was a time,
When we to each other confessed the sublime
And perfect sufficiency love could bestow,
On the hearts that have learned its completeness to know;
We felt that we too had a well-spring of joy,
That earthly convulsions could never destroy,--
A mossy, sealed fountain, so cool and so bright,
It could solace the soul, let it thirst as it might.

"'Tis easy, while happiness strews in our path,
The richest and costliest blessings it hath,
'Tis easy to say that no sorrow, no pain,
Could utterly beggar our spirits again;
'Tis easy to sit in the sunshine, and speak
Of the darkness and storm, with a smile on the cheek!

"As hungry and cold, and with weariness spent,
You droop in your saddle, or crouch in your tent;
Can you feel that the love so entire, so true,
The love that we dreamed of,--is all things to you?
That come what there may,--desolation or loss,
The prick of the thorn, or the weight of the cross--
You can bear it,--nor feel you are wholly bereft,
While the bosom that beats for you only, is left?
While the birdlings are spared that have made it so blest,
Can you look, undismayed, on the wreck of the nest?

"There's a love that is tenderer, sweeter than this--
That is fuller of comfort, and blessing, and bliss;