html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }NCE more, my love, once more, though faint
The poet's fire that erst so bright could burn,
Yet must I strive to greet the joyful morn
That sees Thy natal day's return.
For though how changed since youth and health were mine,
When every hour its own delight could bring,
When o'er the past a mellowed light could shine,
And hope to greet the future spring!
Yet 'mid the clouds that shade our noontide day,
The cares and griefs which seem our portion here,
One joy remains to glad mine onward way,
One light that darkened sky to cheer.
Oh! thankful must I be for that deep love,
Which changes not as changing years pass on,
But only seems a purer faith to prove,
When all that gave it birth is gone.
For if I loved thee in the joyous time
Of life's bright dayspring, its unclouded skies,
It is when conscious of her fading prime,
That woman love like thine can prize.
And though around us cares and sorrows press,
Yet countless mercies hover o'er us still;
And we with thankful hearts the hand must bless
That still with joys our cup can fill.
And oh! how thankful, that while war and death
Have plunged alike in mourning hut and hall,
No fondly loved one fills a grave beneath
Thy blood-stained walls, Sebastopol!
No, still our children cluster round our hearth;
And while in life and health they glad our home,
We well may smile upon the cares of earth,
And look with hope on years to come.
God bless them all! and mayst thou live to see
Their pathway that for which our hearts have yearned;
Each prove in turn Heaven's choicest gift to be,
A blessing lent from God, to Him with joy returned.
E.