html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Y love, I brought no wreath of song,
Thy last birthmorn to cheer,
For on my heart there seemed to rest
A weight of anxious fear:
I dared not, ere the day was come,
Speak of its joys to thee,
Yet feel, perhaps that morrow's morn
Might never dawn for me.
But now, when God, all-merciful,
Has spared my life once more,
And with fresh hope and gladness made
Our cup of joy run o'er,—
Fain would I tell how gratefully
I feel thy constant love,
Which seems, with every trying hour,
More deep, more true to prove.
Yes, Dearest, if in early days,
When youth and hope were ours,
Thy warm affection seemed the sun
That gladdened earth's best flowers,
Far dearer has that love become
With life's advancing years,
Still brighter shines with every cloud,
That sunlight on its tears.
Together we have journeyed on
For many a happy year,—
Together passed through light and shade,
'Mid scenes of varied cheer;
And surely 'tis God's choicest gift,
When heart with heart thus shares,—
Rejoicing, doubles all our joys,
And lightens half our cares.
And cares there are,—those precious ones,
Whose merry voices ring
Around us now, full many an hour
Of anxious thought must bring:
But we will still receive them all
As blessings from above,
And trust they may, in future years,
Our truest blessings prove.
And when upon our onward path
Clouds may their shadows cast,—
Then let us turn, and look upon
The mercies of the past;
And pray, whatever storms may break
Our noon of life's repose,
That at the last, our evening hour
In holiest calm may close.
E.