LAMENT OF THE
INVALID.
The earth is arrayed in the robes of spring,
And by the soft zephyr the
green leaves are stirred;
With the wood-bird’s note the pine
forests ring,
And the voice of the robin’s
glad music is heard.
I see my companions abroad on the plain,
But the beauties of spring,
they are not for me.
Oh! when shall I leave my dull prison
again?
I am pining to roam ’mid
the wild flowers free.
O green is the turf in the wildwood now,
And my spirit flies from the
dwellings of men,
Where the wind blows soft through the
cedar’s bough,
And the voice of the streamlet
is heard from the glen.
This dim-lighted chamber I long to resign
For my cherish’d retreat,
’neath the wide-spreading tree.
Through the long, long hours of day I
pine
For the breath of the flowers
and the hum of the bee.
No, not for me are the beauties of spring,
Nor the zephyr that sighs
in the cedar’s bough;
The birds of the forest all sweetly may
sing,
But not for my ear is their
music now.
Yet, merciful Father! I will
not complain;
My hopes are all centred on heaven and Thee;
I know that thy grace will my spirit sustain—
I ask not for more—’tis sufficient
for me.
