Hang not thy harp upon the willow; Mourn not a brighter, happier day: But touch the chord, and life's wild billow Will, shrinking, foam its shame away.
Then strike the chord and raise the strain Which brightens that dark clouded brow; O! beam one sunshine smile again, And I'll forgive thy sadness now.
Though darkness, gloom, and doubt surround thee, Thy bark, though frail, shall safely ride; The storm and whirlwind may rage round thee, But thou wilt all their wrath abide.
Hang not thy harp upon the willow Which weeps o'er every passing wave; Though life is but a restless pillow, There's calm and peace beyond the grave.
