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Show DRIFTED AWAY. In the morn of life is anchored a barque By some isles I was sure would stay; Alas! Alack in the treacherous dark, My green isles drifted away. And now I look back on their groves of palm, Their fountains of solace and joy, As martyrs look for the life beyond, When flames and the rack destroy. Bore ever a martyr keener pain Than our Lord when deserted knew? Can the fire scorch as burns the thought I trusted to love not true? Come back, come back, my beautiful isles, That I anchored by bark beside! No other isles like by isles of palm In the tropic seas so wide. Ah, when once an isle has drifted away, Nor fountains, nor palms remain; My anchor swings loose to lodge as it may, My barque is as sea again. CLARA J. MOORE, in the Home Journal |