Oh ! let the balmy morning gale this sigh bear on its wing,1
And waft it to thy shady grove where feather’d songsters sing,2
And let all flowers yield their sweets and lend their aid to one,3
Who walks a weary pilgrimage, who dwelleth all alone.4
Let gentle dews that fall by night remind thee of his tear,5
Let nature sigh in murmurs sweet his name within thine ear;6
Yet though he gazes on the world in grief that dims his sight,7
He’d sooner die than tear of thine should tremble in the light.8
Oh ! there is joy to gaze upon the glorious orb of day,9
Or watch its golden gladsome beam upon the waters play ;10
And to reflect that other eyes may thus be turn’d to Heaven,11
And by such train of roving thought to sunny streams be given.12
The world can never sunder those who in the realms above13
Can find so sure—so beautiful—an interchange of love !14