From: The Dial, Vol. II, No. III. (Jan. 1842)
Author:
Published: E. P. Peabody 1842 Boston
TO MARY ON HER BIRTHDAY. FULL fair, another circling year doth gird
The mystic growth of the young heart around;
O deep and deeper be the voices heard
Which through that heart in angel whispers sound.
Thine is the hour when by the fragrant bloom
We prophesy of Summer’s golden sheaves;—
If sadness comes, O darken not to gloom!
Be like the pine-tree that I love, whose leaves
Ne’er vanquished were by Winter’s icy arm,
But breathe a strain which all the year doth charm.
I dare not pray that trials dark and drear
Shall ne’er upon thy path like clouds appear,
But may a soul as true as life can form
Sun-tinge their awful edge, and glorify the storm.
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