THRIFT, 
Sympathy. 
Come thou with me—thy clasped hand in mine— 
I’ll tell thee o’er the story of thy heart; 
I’ll tell thee how my spirit springs to thine, 
I’ll hid the shadows from thy brow depart. 
Ah! earnestly I’ve marked thee day by day, 
And ever day by day with saddening thought; 
I’ve seen thy purest feelings thrown away, 
And mourned the inward woe such waste hath wrought. 
Life’s favored child, forever round thee spring 
Immortal flowers of love and beauty rare, 
And still the incense they around thee fling 
Charms not thy senses from their spell of care,— 
Lures not thy spirit from its wayward dreams, 
Beguiles thee not the livelong, weary day, 
Awakes thee not to bless the sunny beams, 
That fain would light thee on thy dreary way. 
Thou sighest still for something not thine own, 
Some precious thing that ever mocks thy sigh, 
Some phantom form of love, that long hath flown 
Above, beyond, thy watchful, eager eye. 
Ah! sigh no more, and bid thy dreams begone! 
Let waking visions all thy pain beguile: 
Nay, turn not thy reproachful gaze on one 
Whose all of life is centered in thy smile. 
If holiest love dwelt not within my soul, 
Dost think that I could read thy soul aright? 
Dost think that I would thus fling off control, 
And all my inner self reveal to sight ? 
I’ve not a selfish thought, when thou art near; 
My loving heart, with hll the might it hath, 
Forgetting self, but longs, with trembling fear, 
To be the guardian angel of thy path. 
From all that grieves thee now thyself to win, 
And make a Paradise on earth for thee, 
Where, though the serpent Care may enter in, 
He’ll linger not, for Love will bid him flee. 
M. L. S. 
ft. I 
