She met the lady with a smile,
She twined the wreath amid her hair;
It blooms not yet, but will ere while,
Oh! wear it ever there.-Uhland.
Lady, if love might weave a simple wreath
To deck thy brow, oh! sure I'd bind it there,
'Mid the soft tresses of thy glossy hair ;
Bidding it tell thee that however brief
Our interviews, the soothing, sweet relief
They brought to the care-burdened mind, has been
Fragrant as perfume of the flowers. I deem
It joy to know thee thus ;-but there are those
To whom thou turn'st for counsel and repose;
Oh! may they faithful prove. Thy time well spent,-
A glorious independence of the mind,
Scorning false trammels, makes thee free and kind.
My blessings, lady; thou art not forgot!
Then take this little wreath;-'tis sweet forget-me-not.
"O, friend beloved! I sit apart and dumb, Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine; My lips will falter, but my prison'd heart
Springs forth, to measure its faint pulse with thine."
O, favored child of fortune! on this day
Many may clasp thy hand, and offer thee
Gifts rare and costly: thou wilt not see me,
But I, too, will be there. This simple lay
Welling up from the fountain thou didst ope,
Accept it as the frankincense and myrrh
Of a most loving heart ;—for though it err
In all it doeth; though it blindly grope;
Still, the sweet flower of love is blooming there!
Therefore, mine own one, in thine evening prayer,
Whisper my name. Ay, blest! his love is thine,-
The friend so dear to thee, so richly dowered-
Then worldly gifts thou need'st not, clinging vine;
But, oh! may Heaven's choicest dews on both be showered!
Yes; we will look to Him: for poor indeed,
E'en though in gorgeous homes our lot be cast;
Though friends, and wealth, and fame's loud trumpet blast
Attend us; there's an aching void! we need
The blessed Friend of all. And surely, those,
Whose lives have been one long, dark, cheerless night,
Struggling mid doubt and darkness with their might,
To stem the rushing tide—they need repose.
Alike in poverty, or worldly wealth,
Surrounded by the loved, or still alone;
Though fanned by gentle breezes, born of health,
Nor these, nor all can for His loss atone!
Then, speak, thou friend of freedom, and of truth!
For age will bow, when wisdom dwells with youth.
Strength for thy sorrowing flock! strength from on high, To say farewell, with calm and holy trust,
E'en though their tears do flow, as flow they must!
Their Shepherd is departing, and their sky
Is clouded o'er; but the small voice is there,
Kindling fresh hope, and quieting despair.
Oh! not for us alone thy strength was given:-
Are there not wanderers still to guide to Heaven?
Then, onward! though our throbbing hearts, the while,
Question the need, like those who gathered round
Their blessed Master. Truly, peace is found
Where duty calls. She blesses with her smile.
Ay, go to others the glad tidings tell-
Bearing thy loved ones with thee, fare thee well!
"I must devote thee to one who is pure;
Touched by whose brightness, thine own wilt be sure;
Borne in His bosom, no sorrow can dim;
Nothing can win or can pluck thee from Him.
Hence, unto Him be my little one given;-
Yea,
"for of such, is the kingdom of Heaven!"
Hail, little one, untried by earthly care!
Long may'st thou prove a well-spring of delight,
Cheering the home of love; thy mother's prayer
Shielding her darling from the world's sad blight.
That prayer, full well I know it is, that thou,
E'en in the inmost foldings of thy heart,
Should e'er be pure; that early thou should'st bow
In love to Him, nor from his paths depart.
Oh! not for station, nor for gold, would she
See her inmortal treasure bend the knee !
Then, blessings on thee, little stranger dear!
If thorns beset thy path, look, look above.
Jesus, who blessed them while he tarried here,
Still lives and reigns, a fountain of pure love!
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