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04 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. |
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April, 1848. |
Because it faints and droops,
Weary with care! Because earth's flowery hopes
Shut everywhere!
The sober way of life
Opens before me, And tempests, loud with strife,
Are bursting o'er me.
Adieu I for we must part,
Friend of my soul! No longer can my heart
Thy chords control!
TWO SMOTHERED CHILDREN. |
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Theirs was not the peaceful death-bed, Where affection's silent tears,
O'er the couch of pain fast falling, Blend with deep responsive prayers;
Where the hand of fond affection Feels each painful, struggling breath;
Catching every throb of anguish, Till the heart grows cold in death.
Nay, their death was strangely fearful!
No fond parent closed their eyes, And no voice of pity answer'd
To their feebly moaning cries! |
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