The poem
Death! that struck when I was most confiding In my certain faith of joy to be - Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing From the fresh root of Eternity!
Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and full of silver dew; Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.
Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride; But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring-tide.
Little mourned I for the parted gladness, For the vacant nest and silent song - Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; Whispering, " Winter will not linger long!"
And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, Lavished glory on that second May!
High it rose - no winged grief could sweep it; Sin was scared to distance with its shine; Love, and its own life, had power to keep it From all wrong - from every blight but thine!
Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; Evening's gentle air may still restore - No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish - Time, for me, must never blossom more!
Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be; Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish That from which it sprung - Eternity.