Song

O, shed no more the burning tear
     That tracks the cheek for heavy loss;
The joyous birds sing HOPE and CHEER,—
     They whisper in the swinging moss.

The waves that lap the silver beach,
     Will lull the heaving heart of woe,
And every odorous bud will teach 
     Its dewy joy in thee to low.

No ill can lurk beneath the smile
     Of these sunlit, and happy trees;
And holy Hope hath made this isle 
     A fane of blessed prophecies.

The pang that trills the heart to-day, 
     May not with morrow’s sun be felt,
The fear that wears the soul away,
     Like mist before its fire may melt.

Forbear the grief, and trembling fears;
     Serenely take the life serene,
That o’er the quiet isle appears,
     To hallow this delightful scene.

O, living love will drown the pain,
     That burns for loss of pleasures dead;
And nurse the bloom of life again,
     By sorrow’s blight untimely shed.