Inebriate’s Wife, The

                    I.
O mourning culd of sorrow
     Who weep’st thy life away,
To whom each coming morrow
     Is but a darker dayl
What deep distresses centre
     Within that shattered cot,
Where plenty cannot enter,
     And promise cometh not.

                    II.
Thy young heart’s first affections
     Are blighted in thy breast,
And bitterest recollections
     Deny thy spirit rest.
The memories, sweet and tender,
     Of long-gone, happy years
More full and burning render
     The overgush of tears.

                    III.
How cruel and unsating
     To eharts for kindness born,
Is love returned by hating—
     And meekness met with scorn.
This makes a living Martyr
     Of thee, devoted Wife,
Who for his peace would barter
     The young joy of thy life.

                    IV.
God bless thee! guardian angel
     Whose love can never die,
Speak sweetly its evangel,
     For so may hope be nigh;
And in our oft reverses
     Some blessing haply lurks
For thee, from God, whose mercies
     Are over all his works.