Edward Farmer

“ When 'whelmed in deep sorrow, you find that it's dead,
And that all the atonement left here,
(With a heart, where a thorn hath been planted instead)
Is, to water its grave with a tear!
When remorse shall have lit the slow fire of regret,
And the pride of life's garden is flown,
And the seeds of despair have commingled and met
In the spot where the plant should have grown,—
How dreadful, on memory's tablet to view,
The sad record of happiness gone! ”