The Wife.

The Wife.
422.8

I could have stemmed misfortune’s lide.
And borne the rich one’s sneer,
Have braved the haughty glance of pride.
Nor shed a single tear:
I could have smiled on every biow
From life’s full qutver thrown,
While I might gaze on thee and know
I should not be nione,

I could I think I could have brooked
E’en for a time that thou
Upon my fading face hadat looked
With less of love than now;
For then I should at least have felt
The sweet hope still my own.
To win thee back and whilst I dwelt
On earth, not been alone.

But thus to see from day to day
Thy brightening eye and cheek.
And watch thy life sance waste away.
Unnumbered, slow and meek,
To meet thy smiles of tenderness,
And catch the feeble tone
Of kinonrs, ever breathed to bless
And feel I’ll be alone;

To mark thy strength each hour decay,
And yet thy hopra grow stronger,
As, filed with heavenward trust, theу яву.
Earth may not claim thee longer:
Nay, dearest, ’tis too much-this heart
Must break when thou art gone:
It must not be we must not part- I could not ve alone.