And bless the hand that gave the blow,

And laid our earthly comforts low.

It Was True.

I loved th’ enchanting viol’s sound,

I loved the sprightly dance,

And all the dear, delightful scenes

Of nature’s wild romance.

I know the fascinating charms,

In all their depth and hight,

Presumed on days and months and years

Of exquisite delight.

Though seventy-six, I feel I still

These halls of mirth could grace;

I left them when in youth[1] and sought

In Christ a hiding place.

But oh! the bitter cup I drank

That tamed my wild career;

Death struck my parents from my side

And drowned my joy in tears.

My dear loved home of childhood’s years,

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