If shadows are dark, and lights are not clear,
  It is only the common lot of man;
  We must live our actual lives, my dear,
  And make the best of those lives that we can.

  I used to be certain of perfect bliss,
  And find it in every breath I drew;
  And now the height of my happiness is
  To lessen the sorrow that burthens you!

Thank God that we met when our lives were bright,
And earth was as fair as heaven above,
And stood in the lovely religious light,
And vowed the sweet vows to cherish and love.

O Harry, my dear! if we had not met,
What would you do with your desolate life? 
O merciful God, can I ever forget
Your goodness in letting me be his wife?

* * * * *

We walk ’neath the weight that we have to bear
(I suppose all people walk under weights);
They say that a road of trouble and care
Is the straightest road to the Heaven-gates.

I hope we shall find the gates open far,
So that close together we both come in;
I shrink from the thoughts of the gates ajar,
When only the one might an entrance win.

  I wonder if Heaven is brighter yet,
  Than the home that lies o’er a distant main;
  I wonder if there we shall quite forget
  That we never saw that dear home again!

  I must not be tired, or think of my load;
  I must try to walk with a step more free;
  I have to help Harry along the road,
  That is so much harder for him than me.

  Living alone in the depths of a wood,
  Life catches meanings, and things become clear;
  But Harry is growing so very good,
  That it almost gives me a sort of fear.

  ‘O little May-blossom!’ he softly cries,
  As together we tread the well-worn way,
  ’There is nothing sweeter beneath the skies,
  Than a little shining blossom of May!

  O lie on my heart, as you ever do,
  Till my heart grows lighter under your touch;
  O little May-blossom! while I have you
  No shaft of misfortune can hurt me much!’

  He has work’d all day on the virgin sod;
  We have eaten the meal that my hands prepare;
  We have said our prayers to the Father-God,
  And Harry is placidly sleeping there.

  He is sleeping there, while I work away—­
  My busy needle has plenty to do;
  And my thoughts turn idly to yesterday,
  And a world where troubles were very few;

To a world that shines in a distance fair, Like a fairy dream, impossibly sweet,—­ Was life what it seem’d when we liv’d out there?  Or was it only a lovely deceit?

  Slumber approach’d not my eyes—­open’d wide—­
  My wide-open eyes that so seldom weep! 
  Harry turn’d in his sleep, and turning sigh’d—­
  It breaks my heart when he sighs in his sleep.