Two infants in their cradles lie,
Where lullabies of peace
In gentle strains of tender music die.
And carols never cease.
Two urchins o'er the meadow lands
Are bounding in their plays,
Where sweet enjoyment with angelic hands
Winds gladness o'er the days.
Two boys, where golden fancies bless,
Repose in sunny beams,
And muse away the hours of happiness
On couches made of dreams.
Two men upon a summer sea
Are toiling, brave and strong,
Where pleasures roll their elfin harmony
And labor ends in song.
Two gray-haired sages, silvered o'er,
In life meet once again,
To name the wondrous happiness they bore
Among their fellow-men.
Two graves forever hide the twain
Who found, in all their years,
No secret shadows, where unbroken pain
Held fountains full of tears.
Two lives have passed from human reach,
And few have heard of them,
But joy had not been better served if each
Had worn a diadem.
Ah, bosoms here are strangely blest
With perfect bliss that glows,
And he above all others lives the best,
Who has the fewest woes!