There was a cradling lent us here,
To cheer our lot,
It was a cherub in disguise,
But yet our dim and earth-bow'd eyes
Perceiv'd it not.
Its voice was like the symphony
That lute-strings lend,
Yet tho' our hearts the music hail'd
As a sweet breath of heaven, they fail'd
To comprehend.
It linger'd till each season fill'd
Their perfect round,
The vernal bud, the summer-rose,
Autumnal gold, and wintry snows
Whitening the ground.
But when again reviving Spring
Thro' flowers would roam,
And the white cherry blossoms stirr'd
Neath the soft wing of chirping bird,
A call from angel-harps was heard,
"Cherub,—come home."