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swallow's airy flight, In the cuckoo's blithesome cry, When the floating clouds reflect the light Of evening's glowing sky. There's joy in April's balmy showers 'Mid gleam of sunshine shed, When May calls forth a thousand flowers To deck the earth's green bed. There's joy when the harvest moon comes out With all her starry train, When the woods return the reaper's shout And echo shouts again. There's joy in childhood's merry voice When the laugh rings blithe and clear; And the sounds that bid young hearts rejoice Are music to the ear. There's joy in the dreams of early youth, Ere care has cast a shade O'er scenes which, though drest in the guise of truth, Our reason dooms to fade. There's joy in the youthful lover's breast When his bride by the altar stands, When his trembling lip to hers is pressed And the priest has joined their hands. There's joy in the smiling mother's heart When she clasps her first-born son, When the holy tears of rapture start To bless the lovely one. There's joy when the war-worn soldier hears The notes that breathe of peace, That dry the anxious matron's tears, And bid stern slaughter cease. There's joy when he treads the village green And views his father's cot; The horrors of the battle-scene Are in that hour forgot. There's joy in the shipwrecked seaman's heart, Who has clung all night to the shrouds; When the morning breeze rives the rack apart, And the sun breaks through the clouds. There's joy when he nears his native land, And the tedious voyage is o'er, And he feels the grasp of the kindred hand He thought to enfold no more. There's joy above, around, beneath, But tis a fleeting ray; The world's stern strife, the hand of death, Bid mortal hopes decay. But there's a better joy than earth, With all her charms, can give, Which marks the Christian's second birth, When man but dies to live! LOVE. Oh Love! how fondly, tenderly enshrined In human hearts, how with our being twined! Immortal principle, in mercy given, The brightest mirror of the joys of heaven. Child of Eternity's unclouded clime, Too fair for earth, too infinite for time: A seraph watching o'er Death's sullen shroud, A sunbeam streaming through a stormy cloud; An angel hovering o'er the paths of life, But sought in vain amidst its cares and strife; Claimed by the many--known but to the few Who keep thy great Original in view;
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