My long neglected lyre I'll take,
And seek its echoes to awake;
But it hath lain untuned so long,
Scarce can I hope to frame a song.

Yet, when I sweep the trembling strings,
A low sad wail of music rings;
Encouraged by that gentle strain,
I'll touch the silken cords again.

I wish thee happiness, my friend,--
Such as on virtue doth attend;
And pray that grief's dark funeral pall
May ne'er upon thy young heart fall.

O may an interest in Christ's blood,--
Thy soul, bathed in that crimson flood,
Shall be from guilt's dark stain set free,
Thy sins no more imputed thee.

I wish a friend, faithful and kind,
Noble, sincere, pure and refined,
Whose sympathy with thine shall blend,
And to life's duties sweetness lend.

Loving and loved, thy bark shall glide
Smoothly along life's rapid tide,
Until 'tis launched upon the sea
Of infinite eternity.