OH! day most sacred in Love's calendar,
Most hallowed day in my domestic year,
How shall I meet thee now?—how greet thee still,
Thou, that joy-laden erst were wont to come?
How heavy falls thy step anear my home,
As tread of one that bringeth news of ill,—
As one whose heart is very heaviness.
But stay thou in Love's calendar, dear day,
And o'er my lonely hearth a silv'ry ray
Down shed from the bright crown of hoariness
Circling that placid brow, where righteousness
Her own mild glory leaves, lightning the face
With softened lustre, in which Heaven may trace
A title-deed to lasting happiness!