We gathered many a fragrant flower
To deck our pleasant bridal bower,
And life and joy their sunshine shed,
When first my love and I were wed.

Time passed - the bridal flowers might fade,
Sickness and care our brows might shade,
But then the olive-branches sprung
To bid our hearts feel fresh and young,
And banish, with their joyous bloom,
Each passing breath of fear and gloom.

The thunderbolt of judgement flew -
And, where our tender nursling grew,
What rests to us, my husband, now?
- A narrow grave - a cypress bough!

Hush, hush, my heart, such deep complaint!
Forbid oh Lord! my soul to faint!
- Befits me more a thankful lay
To Him who gave and took away.
Withdrew our darling from our eye,
To shrine her with Himself on high,
And gives, while we watch her dust,
The humble faith, whose steadfast trust,
Can change the cypress bough of death
Into an amaranthine wreath!

And thou of one sweet bud bereft,
Yet ye, our firstborn hope, is left,
And, had our sky been cloudless blue,
Could we have loved, as now we do?
The storms have made us cling for rest,
More closely to each other's breast.

Honoria Lawrence
August 21, 1841
Kasauli.