The New Hampshire Gazette

Poetry.

From the Lowell Mercury.

"Every heart knoweth its own bitterness."

BY MRS. S. R. A. BARNES.

Each day, in my accustomed walk,
What myriads do I meet,
Yet not a face I look upon,
But tells me "life is sweet."

Thou with the grace and glow of youth,
A cloudless brow is thine,
Oh, can it be that bounding breast,
Shrouds bitterness like mine?

Thou with the calm and placid mien,
With cheek and brow so fair.
Oh, tale of sorrow, hope deferr'd,
Or wrong, is written there.

And thou with heart and eye intent
Upon some favorite plan—
Whose golden promise lures thee on—
Thine is the bliss of man.

Hath every heart its bitterness?
I've sometimes dared to think
'The cup of human misery drugg'd
For only some to drink.

But past that deep desponding hour
Of darkness, doubt, distrust,
Reflection's voice hath reached the heart,
And whisper'd, "God is just."

Each, each hath some deep-cherish'd woe.
Peculiarly his own,
And every heart a bitterness
The eye would fain disown.

Upon the aching feverish lip
Perpetual smiles may dwell,
Delusive all, yet not a sigh
The soul's dark secret tell;

And gladdening words may freely flow
While sorrow, shame, and sin,
Consume the heart with bitterness—
The conflict is within.