Classic Poem

D ISTILL'D amidst the gloom of night,
Dark hangs the dew-drop on the thorn;
Till, notic'd by approaching light,
It glitters in the smile of morn.

Morn soon retires, her feeble pow'r
The sun outbeams with genial day,
And gently, in benignant hour,
Exhales the liquid pearl away.

Thus on Affliction's sable bed
Deep sorrows rise of saddest hue;
Condensing round the mourner's head,
They bathe the cheek with chilly dew.

Though Pity shows her dawn from Heaven,
When kind she points assistance near;
To Friendship's Sun alone 'tis given
To soothe and dry the mourner's tear.