DAUGHTER, the Book Divine, To which we turn for aid, When prosperous skies unclouded shine, Or dark wing'd storms invade, Is ever open to thine eye, Imprint it on thy soul, And wisdom that can never die Shall thy young thoughts control. Sweetest, the cheek of bloom, Alas! how soon 'twill wear The clay-cold coloring of the tomb: Then while thine own is fair, Low at his feet imploring fall, Who loves the humble mind, And whose high promise is, that all Who early seek shall find. Come, ere thy hand hath wove The first, fresh wreaths of Spring, Come, ere a worn and wither'd love Is all thou hast to bring, Remember thy Creator's power, While life from care is free, That when the days of darkness lower, He may remember thee. Yes, give thy heart to Him, While budding Hope is green, And when thy mother's eye is dim To every earthly scene, When this fond arm that circles thee Must chill and powerless lie, Our parting tear, the pledge shall be Of union in the sky |