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  1. #1
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    present as

    How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
    As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,
    As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
    And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;
    When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
    When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,
    Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
    And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
    Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
    Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
    Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
    The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
    Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
    Where no clouds of fate o'er the sweet prospect lour,
    Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
    When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.


  2. #2
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    Default Re: as




    3297731y763i7owcz zps9ed156a3 - as

    MAY OUR COUNTRY PROGRESS IN EVERYWHERE AND IN EVERYTHING SO THAT THE WHOLE WORLD SHOULD HAVE PROUD ON US
    PAKISTAN ZINDABAD











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