When sad the parting word we hear,
That seems of past delights to tell;
Who then, without a sacred tear,
Can say farewell?
And are we ever doom'd to mourn,
That e'en our joys may lead to pain?
Alas! the rose without a thorn
We seek in vain.
When friends endear'd by absence meet,
Their hours are crown'd with every treasure;
Too soon the happy moments fleet
On wings of pleasure.
But when the parting hour is nigh,
What feeling breast their woes can tell?
With many a prayer and tender sigh
They bid farewell.
Yet Hope may charm their grief away,
And pour her sweet enchanting strain,
That friends belov'd—some future day,
Shall meet again.
Her aid the fair deceiver lends,
To dry the tears which sadly fell;
And calm the sorrow which attends
The last farewell.