  Thine is the hour of joy; The heart untouched by sorrow, And bliss without alloy Is pictured on to-morrow: To-morrow!—it may come To robe thy brow in sadness, Make desolate thy home, And rob thy heart of gladness. But fear thou not the storm, Though it pass in fury o'er thee; The rainbow's smiling form Still bends its arch before thee: It tells thee joy may fade, And winter strip the bower, Hope in the grave be laid, And withered every flower: Yet there's a home on high, Where sorrow enters never, Where pleasure cannot die, And friendship lives for ever. 'Tis where the good are blest With happiness unending A world of heavenly rest, And there thy steps are tending! November 4, 1826. |
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