J. C. Squire, ed. A Book of Women’s Verse. 1921.
By Amelia Opie (17691853)A Lament
T
Could ne’er my numerous failings see;
There was an ear that heard untired
When others spoke in praise of me.
With warmer love for me to burn;
A heart whene’er from home I roved
Which fondly pined for my return.
E’en short farewells in tones of sadness;
There was a voice whose eager sound
My welcome spoke with heartfelt gladness.
On mine its own effulgence threw,
And called my humble talents forth,
While thence its dearest joys it drew.
With anxious fears would overflow;
Which wept, which pray’d for me, and sought
From future ills to guard—But now!—
That lip and voice are mute for ever;
And cold that heart of anxious love,
Which Death alone from mine could sever:
Which loved my various tasks to see;
And oh! of all the praise I gain’d
His was the dearest far to me!
Life’s weary wilderness must tread,
Till He who heals the broken heart
In mercy bids me join the dead.