T

But which, in our blindness, we let slip by,

Alas! they know not to return again,

Deep-buried doth each, within its grave, lie.

But O belov’ed, now that we have made

The golden secret ours—to hold alway

We will not sorrow o’er departed hours—

Just live in God’s great glorious—To-day!

JEWELS

OH, not the gracious deeds your kindness knew, dear,

O

When shone my sun and skies were ever fair;

But the more precious sympathies you tendered

In sorrow’s hour. Those my jewels rare

Which dearer, than off’ring wealth knows to proffer,

I’ll keep beside me whate’er may attend,

Nor render up so long as Life’s day lasteth,—

Aye, and take with me, when shall plead its end.

SOMETHING GONE

YOU come to me—you take my hand,

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