The purling* brook runs rippling by;
The flowers and trees are budding sweet.
The joyous note of larks on high
Carol a welcome thee to greet.
Nature, arrayed in smiling mood,
Stands blithely knocking at my heart
Whilst I, with bitterness imbued,
And as the years roll o'er thy head
Thoul't learn twas true loves labour lost.
When, from thy bleeding heart someday
A childish image wrests a tear
And God's own voice, "I will repay"
Whispers into thy trembling ear.
For me life's guerdon** hold's no hope
No happiness can e're be mine!
My homeless children vainly grope
In quest of mother love devine
For thee, accursed of thy race,
Life's joy is now denied thee.
Thy future life, thou shalt not face
* flowing with swirling motion and babbling sound
** reward, recompense