Farewell ye scenes of past delight,
No more for me the sun does shine;
For every day now seems a night
Bereft of her that once was mine.
No more to cheer the lonely day,
No more to cheer with converse sweet,
For who such tender things can say?
Or who so lovingly can greet?
And oft as the revolving year,
That direful day shall bring,
Sacred to Thee shall be the tear,
Thy loss the never failing sting.
Oh! could oblivion drown that day
And ease my aching heart,
Yet love and memory bid me say,
I would not lose the smart.
Still to my soul thou art most dear
Nor ever can depart:
Still love will shed the bitter tear,
And clasp Thee to my heart.
Yet, while this feeble frame of mine
Retains its mental sight,
Resigned unto the will divine
God wills and it is right.
June 8th 1817