Sparkled the river with joy to the brim?

Glitter'd the blue over heaven and sea?

Flutter'd the birds to a musical call?

Could he be happy unconscious of me?

And, without Harry, what was I at all?

I stand on a rock where two rivers meet,

With a life behind and a life before;

And one is ebbing away from my feet,

And the other is rising more and more.

Ah, poor little maiden! ah, dear little wife!

Ah, days that are past and days that will come!

The past is nothing—this only is life;

I am going with him and am going Home.

Home

[pg 31]

And such a sweet pretty home as it is!

What shall I do with my exquisite bliss?

How can I ever be charming enough,

Where rumpling a roseleaf will make the path rough?

How can I thank the great Father above

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