And friends fell from me--all, save God, and one
Beside--and she my mother--gentle, true.
As the bleak wind sweeps o'er the trembling limbs
Of some fair tree denuded of its dress,
How oft is seen, upon the topmost spray,
One lonely leaf, which braves the passing storm
Of Winter, and when gladsome Spring arrives,
And blossoms bloom in beauty all around,
It bends its brow and silent falls away.
So droopt that friend, who, through the livelong day
Of icy cold that chill'd my inmost life,
Sat like a bird upon the outside branch,
And sweetly sang me songs of coming Spring.
"THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS."
'Tis everywhere! The babe that sees with pain
The look of feign'd displeasure on the face
Of doting mother; and the mother who
Lays down the babe to rest--no more to wake;
The youth and maiden fair who tempt the stream
Of love that never brings them to the goal
Their fancy pictured; hearts that droop and break:
Upon life's thorny way; old age that sees
Long-hoped for peace among the silent dead
And deems it life to die. The shadow falls
Athwart the sunny hopes of every heart,
And shadowy most when gentle arms extend
For love's embrace, and find it not--as night
Is darkest near the dawn. Brighter the flame
Of light celestial 'twixt which and our hearts
The blessed Cross doth stand, sharper the shade
That falls upon our lives, as greatest gains
Involve the pains of great adventurings;
Or, nearer Death, nearer eternal Life.