When
crown’d with blessing she doth rise
To take her latest leave of home,
And hopes and light regrets that come
Make
April of her tender eyes;
And
doubtful joys the father move,
And tears are on the mother’s face,
As parting with a long embrace
She
enters other realms of love;
Her
office there to rear, to teach,
Becoming as is meet and fit
A link among the days, to knit
The
generations each with each;
And,
doubtless, unto thee is given
A life that bears immortal fruit
In those great offices that suit
The
full-grown energies of heaven.
Ay
me, the difference I discern!
How often shall her old fireside
Be cheer’d with tidings of the bride,
How
often she herself return,
And
tell them all they would have told,
And bring her babe, and make her boast,
Till even those that miss’d her most
Shall
count new things as dear as old:
But
thou and I have shaken hands,
Till growing winters lay me low;
My paths are in the fields I know,
And
thine in undiscover’d lands.