Gentle mourner, fondly dreaming
O'er the grave of buried years,
Where the cold pale stars are gleaming
Far along this vale of tears; —

Fond enthusiast, wildly gazing
From the towers of childhood's home,
On the visioned beacon's blazing
Bright o'er ocean's sun-flushed foam; —

Hope's false mirage hides the morrow,
Memory gilds the days gone by;
Give not thy young life to sorrow,
Trust not joys that bloom to die.

Fiercest throbs the pulse of gladness,
Heralding a darker day;
Sweetest spring from thoughts of sadness
Eden flowers that ne'er decay.

Here, of mirth and anguish blended,
Joys are born that cannot cloy,
Ending — not till life is ended —
In the painless endless joy.