









360 MARIA LOWELL. 

We used to think how she had come, even as comes the flower, 
The last and perfect added gift to crown love’s morning hour, 
And how in her was imaged forth the love we could not say, 
As on the little dew-drops round shines back the heart of day, 
We never could have thought, Oh God, that she must 
wither up, 
Almost before a day was flown, like the Morning-Glory’s 
cup: 
We never thought to see her droop her fair and noble head, 
Till she lay stretched before our eyes, wilted, and cold, and 
dead. 
The Morning-Glory’s blossoming will soon be coming round, 
We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves upspringing from 
the ground ; 
The tender things the winter killed renew again their birth, 
But the Glory of our Morning has passed away from earth. 
Oh Harth, in vain our aching eyes stretch over thy green 
plain ; 
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air her spirit to sustain, — 
But up in groves of Paradise full surely we shall see 
Our Morning-Glory beautiful twine round our dear Lord’s 
knee. 




