Dear mother! to thee may I cling till life is o’er,

And united above—we part nevermore.

Response.

Dear Annie:

Dear Annie

What though thy lot has been to bear

Much adverse fate, ’mid toil and care,

Raised expectations crushed and dead,

And hope’s triumphant visions fled?

Dost thou not feel a mightier power,

A hand divine in this dark hour?

Does not thy heart begin to feel

The claims of Him who wounds to heal?

’Tis true, my child, misfortune’s blast

But breaks the rock whence gems are cast;

The polished steel and marble white,

Was once as rough and dark as night.

As purest gold and clearest glass

Must through the hottest furnace pass,

So oft repeated strokes are given,

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