My sister dear ! how oft for thee

My sister dear! how oft for thee,
In childhood's hours of careless glee,
My hands have wove the little bower,
Or bound around thy brow the flower,
Or led amid the haunts of home,
— Whence ne'er our footsteps sought to roam, —
The pageant of thy birth-day scene,
Where all was bright since thou wert queen!

Neglected are those scenes! and now
No flow'ret wreath entwines thy brow,
No more at peep of birth-day morn
Young hands thy little bower adorn,
Nor the loud laugh and merry cheer
Proclaim thee dearest of the dear!
Yet art thou not less loved, — nor less
A being form'd thine own to bless;

For tho' years, as they stole along,
Stole with them friends, and mirth, and song,
They could not nor shall ever steal
From souls that love, and hearts that feel,
The fond affection that can ne'er
Forget thee! O, my sister dear!
Their silent lapse, as rolling o'er,
Tho' it took much hath left us more,

The deep conviction that our love
Is not of earth but from above,
Not the mere burst of childish glee,
But destined for eternity.
Our little band is yet unbroken,
Death could not souls like ours dissever,
The same united prayer is spoken
For thee, my love, and will be ever!

The same unalter'd heart and voice
Join us above, when we rejoice;
And he, who is not less our own,
Because beyond our vision gone;
As fondly as of old on earth
Welcomes the morning of thy birth:
A day less brilliant, not less dear, —
With childhood's joy thro' manhood's tear;

Whose stillness to our hearts doth say,
That some one is not far away,
And that we are, and still shall be
An undivided family!
Lord! haste the time when we shall meet
Together round Thy mercy-seat,
And, amid joy which never dies,
Hold our first birth- day in the skies!

Here — amid care, and sin, and strife,
Be Thou " the way, the truth, the life:"
Hereafter — earth's rough pathway trod,
Our rest, our Father, and our God!