They're Gone

Printed in the Sixth Annual Report
Of The New York Institution for the Blind
February, 1842 Page 37-38

They're gone! those bright and blissful hours,
When the soft wind laughed 'mid the greenwood bowers,
And the wild bird carrolled its plaintive lay
As faded the crimsom tints of day.

And the dew drop came at the twilight's close
To sleep on the heart of the mountain rose;
They're gone, those joyous hours are passed,
And a snowy garb o'er the earth is cast.

Then oh! when the friends we love are fled
To the cold, cold mansions of the dead,
Like the fragile flower may we cease to bloom,
And sleep with them in the peaceful tomb.