Classic Poem

When Memory paints with pencil true
The scenes where youth delighted roved,
She throws o'er none so sweet a hue
As robes the home of her I lov'd.

Each tree, each flower, that flourish'd there,
In former beauty seems to wave;
I seem to breath my native air,
Mid friends who're sleeping in the grave.

But soon these shades of Joy depart
And present sorrows start to view —
Memory, like Hope, still mocks the heart
With visions sweet — but fleeting too!

But Faith points out your radiant heaven,
And bids the mourner not despair;
Whispering, " afflictions are but given,
" Like angel-wings, to waft you there! "