Classic Poem

Light of my life! where'er thou art,
My spirit fondly turns to thee;
And every pulse that thrills my heart
Is thine before mine own it be:
Thine, in the day-beam's blessed light,
And thine, at eve's delicious hour,
Thine, underneath the shadowy night,—
And every season hath some power
To make me thine.

So will the current of my days
Be still to make me more thine own;
Thine still the charms I love to praise,
Thy voice be still my music's tone:
Thine, 'mid the burning hopes of youth,
And thine, as manhood's powers unfold,
Thine all my soul-spring's living truth,
And time but shew me tested gold,
Still ever thine.