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And I love the sun-beam bright, Shining through a summer sky;
Love sweet Cynthia's mellow light, Falling pure and tranquilly.
Love the twilight's sacred hour, When soft shadows round me steal;
It hath tranquillizing power,
Power to make the cold heart feel.
And I love the early dawn,
When the bird awakes his hymn;
When below the rising sun
Float the vapours soft and dim.
01 there's beauty everywhere, In each path we tread below:
Music in the sky, the air,—
Hark—how sweet its numbers flow!
SORROW. There are tears of sorrow shed, O'er the pillow of the dead,
Wheresoe'er death strikes the blow; But most bitter those which start From the parent's burden'd heart,
O'er their offspring cold and low!
Mother, hast thou gazed through tears, O'er the hope of coming years, Blighted in its early pride ?