To A Friend in Edinburgh.

Here's a trifling tribute to thee, dearest May,
Thou tender and true-hearted maiden,
To each childish joy of our life's early day
And memory of hours pleasure-laden.

Though poor be our fortune and hard be our lot,
And this life seems but labour and sorrow;
Let the home of our youth be never forgot,
Till night comes that bringeth no morrow.

New claimants for my heart's love have been given,
And old ones from thine ta'en for ever;
Yet both is the will of a merciful heaven.
And Him who forsaketh us never.

Move cheerily onward and never despair,
Though small be the fruit of thy labour;
Lift up thy heart's voice to the hearer of prayer—
Serve truly thy God and thy neighbour.