
RICHARD H. DANA. 
And now, when weariness and pain 
Had cast you almost from my breast, 
With each a smiling face, 
In all your simple grace, 
You come once more to take me back again 
From pain to ease, from weariness to rest. 
Kind visitants! through my sick room 
You seem to breathe an air of health, 
And with you looks of joy’ 
To wake again the boy, 
And to the pallid cheek restore its bloom, 
And o’er the desert mind pour boundless wealth. 
And whence ye came, by brimming stream, 
’Neath rustling leaves, with birds within, 
Again I musing tread— 
Forgot my restless bed, 
And long sick hours—Too short the blessed dream ! 
I woke to pain !—-to hear the city’s din ! 
But time nor pain shall ever steal 
Or youth or beauty from my mind; 
And blessings on ye, flowers, 
Though few with me your hours, 
The youth and beauty and the heart to feel, 
In her who sent you, ye will leave behind ! 

