183 

 THE INNOCENT LOST ONE. 



Should we repine ? No more Oh ! never more, 



The gentle music of that little voice, 

 That taught us such devoted love, shall pour 



Into our hearts its infant hopes and joys. 

 The light glad step the eye of sparkling glee 



The gush of childhood's transport the fond tone, 

 All, that could wake the tenderest sympathy 



Within a parent's bosom, all, has gone ; 

 The fragile form that twined her curling arms 



Around our necks with love and laid her head, 

 In young affection's most endearing charms, 



Upon the pillow of our breasts, is dead ! 

 Dear little child ! for ever to resign 

 Thy pure and innocent love should we repine ? 



Should we repine ? we who have felt the stress 



Of whelming care and pain and wearing woe, 

 That make the world around a wilderness 



And desolate our dreams of hope below ; 

 We, who have felt that o'er life's lovely things, 



However fair and beautiful they bloom, 

 Some unrelenting sorrow spreads its wings, 



Some withering sadness sheds disastrous gloom. 

 To think, O ! favored innocent, that now 



The tempests of the world may rage in vain, 

 Nor burn, with anguish, on thy gentle brow, 



Nor on thy patient cheek' leave sorrow's stain ; 

 To think, that while our home is mortal, thine 

 Is where the eternal are, should we repine ? 



FRANZ. 



