Class orm wish that an angel my harp would inspire, And tune it to ring with celestial fire; I wish a kind muse would but touch my tongue, And I would then sing as no mortal e ' er sung: As over these strings my fingers would brush, The music would shame the siveet-singing Thrush; And forth from my lyre would come such a note As never proceeded from Nightingale ' s throat! But however feeble my singing may seem, ; I could not desire a loftier theme; i And tho ' from my harp no melody float. Be assured that the heart would speak in each note. The strings may complain as their message they bear. Yet friendship and love are voiced in each air; The harp it may quiver — its chords being pressed — But gentlest of passions ' tivould stir in the breast. The strings, touched again, resume the old theme, And striking them softly, I ' m lost in a dream: A bcjewelcd Tiara of Friendship is seen. Which is worn by a maiden bedecked like a queen. Each jewel is set in a mounting of gold. And forty rich gems the tiara doth hold ; The gems glisten bright, like the stars up above — They ' re twice tiventy souls united in love! The chain of rich gems is broken one day. When a jewel is plucked, from its setting, away; Of another, then others, the crown is bereft. Till only a half of the jewels are left. And yet other gems the maiden doth take — Alas! What a pity such links she should break! But the gems are not spurned — not cast to the ground — They are only transferred to a still brighter crown! Dost think that the jewels their luster have shed. As from their rich mountings of gold they have sped? Nay, friends, they have not, for — like beacons at night — Their splendor continues, and shines ever bright. The light from a star still brilliant appears. Tho ' the star is extinct — and has been for years; And a halo of glory is left by each gem. Which even the Shadow of Death may not dim! The heart strings grow weary with playing so long. But never a moment they pause in the song: ' Tis the note of our friendship — a voice from the past — And as long as we live, our friendship will last. ' Twill not fade, like the light, as the day nears its close. Or lose aught of fragrance — as loses the rose; But Time will the gold of oiir friendship refine. And ' twill mellow with age, like the bright, sparkling wine! D. L. Edwards. 15
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