[From _The Parted Family and Other Poems_ (1842)]
I have seen a fragrant flower
All impearled with morning dew;
I have plucked it from the bower,
Where in loveliness it grew.
Oh, 'twas sweet, when gayly vying
With the garden's richest bloom;
But when faded, withered, dying,
Sweeter far its choice perfume.
So the heart, when crushed by sorrow,
Sends its richest streams abroad,
While it learns sweet balm to borrow
From the uplifted hand of God.
Not in its sunny days of gladness
Will the heart be fixed on Heaven;
When 'tis wounded, clothed in sadness,
Oft its richest love is given.