I sit by the fire musing,
With sad and downcast eye,
And my laden breast gives uttrance
To many a weary sigh;
Hushed is each worldly feeling,
Dimmed is each day-dream bright
O heavy heart, canst tell me
Why Im so sad to-night?
Tis not that I mourn the freshness
Of youth foreer gone by
Its life with pulse high springing,
Its cloudless, radiant eye
Finding bliss in every sunbeam,
Delight in every part,
Well springs of purest pleasure
In its high ardent heart.
Nor yet is it for those dear ones
Whove passed from earth away
That I grievein spirit kneeling
Above their beds of clay;
O, no! while my glance upraising
To yon calm shining sky,
My pale lips, quivering, murmur,
They are happier than I!
But, alas! my spirit mourns
As, weary, it looks back
Finding naught of good or holy
On lifes past barren track
I mourn for the countless errors
That on memrys page crowd on,
And sorrow for lost chances
Of good I might have done.
But, courage! I must arouse me,
The day is not yet oer,
And I still may make atonement
Ere leaving lifes last shore:
One act of meek oblation,
A tear of penance bright,
Will be counted as rare treasures
In heavens loving sight.
