Lydia Huntley Sigourney

Martha Agnes Bonner

There was a cradling lent us here,
  To cheer our lot,
It was a cherub in disguise,
But yet our dim and earth-bow'd eyes
  Perceiv'd it not.

Its voice was like the symphony
  That lute-strings lend,
Yet tho' our hearts the music hail'd
As a sweet breath of heaven, they fail'd
  To comprehend.

It linger'd till each season fill'd
  Their perfect round,
The vernal bud, the summer-rose,
Autumnal gold, and wintry snows
  Whitening the ground.

But when again reviving Spring
  Thro' flowers would roam,
And the white cherry blossoms stirr'd
Neath the soft wing of chirping bird,
A call from angel-harps was heard,
  "Cherub,--come home."