O happy words! at Beauty's feet We sing them ere our prime; And when the early summers pass, And Care comes on with Time, Still be it ours, in Care's despite, To join the chorus free-- "I love my Love, because I know My Love loves me." _O YE TEARS!_ O ye tears! O ye tears! that have long refused to flow, Ye are welcome to my heart,--thawing, thawing, like the snow; I feel the hard clod soften, and the early snow-drop spring, And the healing fountains gush, and the wildernesses sing. O ye tears! O ye tears! I am thankful that ye run; Though ye trickle in the darkness, ye shall glitter in the sun. The rainbow cannot shine if the rain refuse to fall, And the eyes that cannot weep are the saddest eyes of all. O ye tears! O ye tears! till I felt you on my cheek, I was selfish in my sorrow, I was stubborn, I was weak. Ye have given me strength to conquer, and I stand erect and free, And know that I am human by the light of sympathy. O ye tears! O ye tears! ye relieve me of my pain: The barren rock of pride has been stricken once again; Like the rock that Moses smote, amid Horeb's burning sand, It yields the flowing water to make gladness in the land. There is light upon my path, there is sunshine in my heart, And the leaf and fruit of life shall not utterly depart. Ye restore to me the freshness and the bloom of long ago-- O ye tears! happy tears! I am thankful that ye flow! [Decoration] FRANCIS MAHONEY. 1805-1866. _THE BELLS OF SHANDON._ Sabbata pango; Funera plango; Solemnia clango. --_Inscription on an old bell._ With deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee,-- With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I 've heard bells chiming Full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glibe rate Brass tongues would vibrate; But all their music Spoke naught like thine. For memory, dwelling On each proud swelling Of thy belfry, knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I 've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's Mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican,-- And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame; But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly. Oh! the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.