Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/89

Rh  When life her throng of care reveals, And weakness o'er my spirit steals, Grateful I hear the kind decree That "as my day,—my strength shall be."—

When with sad footstep memory roves Mid smitten joys, and buried loves, When sleep my tearful pillow flies And dewy morning drinks my sighs, Still to thy promise, Lord, I flee, That "as my day, my strength shall be."

One trial more must yet be past, One pang,—the keenest, and the last,— And when with brow convulsed and pale, My feeble,—quivering heart-strings fail, Redeemer!—grant my soul to see That "as her day, her strength shall be."

 

Think'st thou the steed that restless roves O'er fields and mountains, vales and groves, With wild, unbridled bound. Finds fresher pasture than the bee On simple flower, or dewy tree, Intent to store her industry Within her waxen round?— 