Think of me when the morning wakes,
With a smile that's bright and a blush that's new;
And the wave-rocked goddess gently shakes
From her rosy wings, the gems of dew.
Think of me, when the day-god burns
In his noon-tide blaze and his purest light;
And think of me when his chariot turns
To the sombre shades of silent night.
Think of me, when the evening's store
Of brilliance, fades on the wondering eye;
And think of me, when the flowers pour
Their incense to the star-lit sky.
Think of me when the evening star,
Through the deep blue sky shall dart his beams;
And think of me when the mind, afar,
Shall chase the forms of its joyous dreams.
Think of me in the hour of mirth--
Think of me in the hour of prayer--
Aye! think amidst each scene of earth,
You feel my spirit is mingling there.
For morning's beam--nor evening's light--
Nor days of woe--nor hours of glee--
Nor e'en religion's holiest rite,
Can steal or force my thoughts from thee.