The heart - the heart ! Oh ! let its be
A true and bounteous thing;
As kindly warm, as nobly free,
As eagle's nestlings wing
Oh! keep it not like miser's gold,
Shut in from all beside;
But let its precious stores unfold,
In mercy, far and wide.
The heart - the heart, that's truly blest,
Is never all its own;
No ray of glory lights the breast
That beat for self alone.
The heart - the heart, Oh ! let it share
A sigh for others pain;
The breath that soothes a brother's care
Is never spent in vain.
And though throb at gentlest touch,
Or sorrow's faintest call,
'Twere better it should ache too much
Than never ache at all.
The heart - the heart, that's truly blest,
Is never all its own;
No ray of glory lights the breast
That beat for self alone.
signed "S.E."
