For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.
O Time and change! - with hair as gray as was my sire's that winter day, how strange it seems, with so much gone of life and love, to still live on!
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, that all of thee we loved and cherished has with thy summer roses perished; and left, as its young beauty fled, an ashen memory in its stead.
I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.
God is good and God is light In this faith I rest secure, Evil can but serve the right, Over all shall love endure.
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