L. M.
Bryant.
Deem not that they are blest alone
Whose days a peaceful tenor keep;
The God who loves our race has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.
The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that now o’erflow with tears,
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are earnests of serener years.
O, there are days of hope and rest
For every dark and troubled night!
And grief may bide, an evening guest,
But joy shall come with morning light.
And ye, who o’er a friend’s low bier
Now shed the bitter drops like rain,
Know that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to your arms again.
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