d to wear before thy mortal eyes,
Though mid the deathless angels, brighter far
She shineth as the lovely morning star;
And still she offers up her prayers for you
As here on earth, when yet no words she knew.
If herefrom springs thy sorrow, that her years
Were broken off before all that endears
A life on earth to mortals she might prove--
Yet think how empty the delights that move
The minds of men, delights that must give place
At last to sorrow, as in thine own case.
Did then thy little girl such joy confer
That all the comfort thou didst find in her
Could parallel thine anguish of today?
Thou canst not answer otherwise than nay.
Then fret not that so early death has come
To what was dearest thee in Christendom.
She did not leave a land of much delight,
But one of toil and grief and evil blight
So plenteous, that all which men can hold
Of their so transitory blessings, gold,
Must lose its value through this base alloy,
This knowledge of the grief that follows joy.
"Why do we weep, great God? That with her dower
She bought herself no lord, that she might cower
Before upbraidings from her husband's kin?
That she knew not the pangs that usher in
The newborn child? And that she could not know,
Like her poor mother, if more racking woe
It were to bear or bury them? Ah, meet
Are such delights to make the world more sweet!
But heaven hath purer, surer happiness,
Free from all intermingling of distress.
Care rules not here and here we know not toil,
Misfortune and disaster do not spoil.
Here sickness can not enter nor old age,
And death, tear-nourished, hath no pasturage.
We live a life of endless joy that brings
Good thoughts; we know the causes of all things.
The sun shines on forever here, its light
Unconquered by impenetrable night;
And the Creator in his majesty
Invisible to mortals, we may see.
Then turn thy meditations hither, towards
This changeless gladness and these rich rewards.
Thou know'st the world, what love of it can do:
Found thou thine efforts on a base more true.
Thy little girl hath chosen well her part,
Thou may'st believe, as one about to start
For the first time upon the stormy sea,
Beholding there great flux and jeopardy,
Returneth to the shore; while those that raise
Their sails, the wind or some blind crag betrays,
And this one dies from hunger, that from cold:
Scarce one escapes the perils manifold.
So she, who, though her years should have surpassed
That ancient Sybil, must h