Hang not thy harp upon the willow,
Mourn not a brighter, happier day,
But touch the chord, and life's wild billow
Will shrinking foam its shame away.

Then strike the chord and raise the strain
Which brightens that dark clouded brow;
Oh! beam one sunshine smile again,
And I'll forgive thy sadness now.

Tho' darkness, gloom, and doubt surround thee,
Thy bark, tho' frail, shall safely ride;
The storm and whirlwind may rage round thee,
But thou wilt all their wrath abide.

Hang not thy harp upon the willow
Which weeps o'er every passing wave;
Tho' life is but a restless pillow,
There's calm and peace beyond the grave.