WRITTEN FOR THE TUNE OF HOTHAM

Fare ye well, life's morning dreams!
Drooping hope, adieu to thee!
Life's eternal morning beams,
As our earth-born pleasures flee.

Sorrow's chilly, blighting wind
May pass o'er the stricken heart;
But the breath of heaven is kind,
Though it bid our joys depart.

Dearest friends may cease to love;
Death our purest joys assail;
But the heart that soars above
Finds a Friend that will not fail.

Wounded spirits then may prize
Sorrow's kind and chastening rod;
Though it loosen earthly ties,
It shall lead the soul to God.