Classic Poem

Thy birth-day morn, how lovely
It dawns upon the eye!
It bids thee awake from slumber
To view the laughing sky.

The golden sun is rising
Majestic o'er the sea,
And nature seems to whisper
Of happiness to thee.

Thy birth-day morn, within thee
What fond emotions swell;
Thy thoughts are in a distant land,
Where friends and kindred dwell.

The mighty deep's between you,
But it can never part
One link in love's bright fetter,
That binds you heart to heart.

Thy birth-day morn—I bring thee
From her Elysian bowers,
A wreath my muse kept for thee,
Culled from her choicest flowers.

The myrtle and the ivy,
The rose and lily fair,
The dew-plant and the violet,—
But there's no cypress there.

Then take the flowers, my sister,
Meet emblems for thy brow;
Oh! might they ever blossom
As beautiful as now!

Where'er thou art, and ever,
My prayer to Heaven shall be,
That spirits kind and guardian
May gently watch o'er thee.