OH, sister, darling, though I smile, the tears are in my heart,
And I will strive to keep them there, or hide them if they start;
I know you've seen our mother's glance ofttimes so full of woe,
The grief-sob rises to the lips that bid her first-born go.

It is not that she doubts his love to whom thou'st given thine,--
The fear that he may coldly look upon his clasping vine;
But, oh, she feels however loved and cherished as his wife,
Though calm her lily may float down upon the stream of life;

Yet, by her own glad married years, she knows that clouds will stray,
And tears will sometimes fill thy cup, though kissed by love away;
And she will not be near her flower to lay it on her breast--
'Tis thus--'tis thus the young birds fly, and leave the lonely nest!

Oh, sister, darling, I shall miss thy footfall on the stair,
Beside my own, when good-words have followed good-night prayer;
And miss thee from our pleasant room, and miss thee when I sleep,
And feel no more thy twining arms and soft breath on my cheek.

And I shall gaze with tearful eyes upon thy vacant chair--
Sweet sister, wherefore, wherefore go, 'tis more than I can bear!
Forgive me, Lizzie, do not weep--I'm strong again, and calm,
"Our Father" for my aching heart will send a spirit-balm.

Now let me bind this snowy veil amid thy silken hair,
The white moss-rose and orange buds upon thy bosom fair;
How beautiful you are to-night! Does love such charms impart?