Could we recal departed joys,

  At price of parted pain,

Oh who that prizes happy hours,

  Would live his life again?

Such

burning tears as once we shed

  No pleasures can repay;

Pass to oblivion, joy and grief!

  We’re thankful for today.

Calm be the current of our lives,

  As rivers deep and clear;

Mild be the light upon our path,

  To guide us and to cheer!

For streams of joy that burst and foam

  May leave their channels dry.

And deadliest lightnings ever flash

  The brightest in the sky!

I scent the ancient sward!

  I feel it ’neath my tread!

The moss, the wiry nard,

  And the harebells bend their head!

I see the foxgloves glow,

Where plow did never go;

And the streams, the streams once more,

Hurrying brightly o’er

Their sandy beds; they roll

With the joy of a living soul.

Ye know that wood-walk sweet,

Where we are wont to meet;

On either hand the knolls and swells

Are crimson with the heather-bells;

    And the eye sees,

    Mid distant trees,

Where moorland beauty dwells.