I sit by the fire musing, br With sad and downcast eye, br And my laden breast gives utt’rance br To many a weary sigh; br Hushed is each worldly feeling, br Dimmed is each day-dream bright— br O heavy heart, can’st tell me br Why I’m so sad to-night? br br ’Tis not that I mourn the freshness br Of youth fore’er gone by— br Its life with pulse high springing, br Its cloudless, radiant eye— br Finding bliss in every sunbeam, br Delight in every part, br Well springs of purest pleasure br In its high ardent heart. br br Nor yet is it for those dear ones br Who’ve passed from earth away br That I grieve—in spirit kneeling br Above their beds of clay; br O, no! while my glance upraising br To yon calm shining sky, br My pale lips, quivering, murmur, br “They are happier than I!” br br But, alas! my spirit mourns br As, weary, it looks back— br Finding naught of good or holy br On life’s past barren track— br I mourn for the countless errors br That on mem’ry’s page crowd on, br And sorrow for lost chances br Of good I might have done. br br But, courage! I must arouse me, br The day is not yet o’er, br And I still may make atonement br Ere leaving life’s last shore: br One act of meek oblation, br A tear of penance bright, br Will be counted as rare treasures br In heaven’s loving sight.