TO MY SISTER.
WHEN evening spreads her shades around, And darkness fills the arch of heaven; When not a murmur, not a sound To Fancy's sportive ear is given;
When the broad orb of heaven is bright, And looks around with golden eye; When Nature, soften'd by her light, Seems calmly, solemnly to lie;
Then, when our thoughts are raised above This world, and all this world can give; Oh, sister, sing the song I love, And tears of gratitude receive.
The song which thrills my bosom's core, And hovering, trembles, half afraid; O sister, sing the song once moreWhich ne'er for mortal ear was made.
'T were almost sacrilege to sing Those notes amid the glare of day;Notes borne by angel's purest wing, And wafted by their breath away.
When sleeping in my grass-grown bed, Should'st thou still linger here above, Wilt thou not kneel beside my head, And, sister, sing the song I love?