They sin who tell that love can die:
With life all other passions fly.
All others are but vanity.
In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell:
Earthly these passions, as of earth,
They perish where they have their birth.
But Love is indestrucrible;
Its holy flame for ever burneth,
Form heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times opprest;
It here is tried and purified,
And hath in heaven its perfect rest;
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of love is there.
Oh! when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the anxious night,
For all her sorrow, all her rears,
An over-payment of delight?
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