 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
150
THE BROKEN HOME.
We were three—a happy circle, bound by strong and holy ties,
Father, mother, and a cherub just descended from the skies,—
With a heart as yet undarkened by one earthly stain or trace,
And the brightness of the heaven it had left, upon its face.
Father, mother, and a cherub just descended from the skies,—
With a heart as yet undarkened by one earthly stain or trace,
And the brightness of the heaven it had left, upon its face.
We were three; and softly o'er us shone the morning light of hope,
And we saw bright scenes of gladness in the future sweetly ope;
Or if clouds obscured a moment the calm sunshine of our skies,
No dark shade of doubt or distance dimmed the light of loving eyes.
And we saw bright scenes of gladness in the future sweetly ope;
Or if clouds obscured a moment the calm sunshine of our skies,
No dark shade of doubt or distance dimmed the light of loving eyes.
151
We were three,—but one has wandered far into a foreign land,
Lured away from love's sweet presence, and its fond detaining hand,
From a wealth of warm affection which in words may not be told,
By the mocking hope of riches, and the dazzling gleam of gold.
Lured away from love's sweet presence, and its fond detaining hand,
From a wealth of warm affection which in words may not be told,
By the mocking hope of riches, and the dazzling gleam of gold.
We were three; but sadly sundered is our little circle now,
Since we miss the tender meaning printed on that cherished brow;
Absent are the clasping fingers, and the loving eyes which smiled
With an earnest fond affection on the mother and her child.
Since we miss the tender meaning printed on that cherished brow;
Absent are the clasping fingers, and the loving eyes which smiled
With an earnest fond affection on the mother and her child.
We are two;—and when the darkness steals along the weary earth,
And the lonely heart most deeply feels its dreariness and dearth,
Bends the mother o'er her infant with a grief too deep to speak,
While warm tear-drops fall unbidden on its fair unconscious cheek.
And the lonely heart most deeply feels its dreariness and dearth,
Bends the mother o'er her infant with a grief too deep to speak,
While warm tear-drops fall unbidden on its fair unconscious cheek.
Ah, dear wanderer, doth fancy never picture to thy mind
The solitude and sorrow of the lone one left behind?
Are earth's treasures to be counted all her tenderness above?
Is the shining gold atonement for the absence of her love?
The solitude and sorrow of the lone one left behind?
Are earth's treasures to be counted all her tenderness above?
Is the shining gold atonement for the absence of her love?
152
Time hath smiled upon thine infant, and a sweet and nameless grace
Speaks in every new expression dawning o'er her dimpled face;—
Is the glitter of the treasure which around thee brightly lies,
Dearer than the loving radiance smiling in her soft brown eyes?
Speaks in every new expression dawning o'er her dimpled face;—
Is the glitter of the treasure which around thee brightly lies,
Dearer than the loving radiance smiling in her soft brown eyes?
Hasten your slow weary motion, oh ye laggard wings of time!
Bring the absent wanderer swiftly, safely to his native clime,—
Re-united then, the burden of our joyful song shall be
Rising gratefully and gladly up to heaven—“We are three!”
Bring the absent wanderer swiftly, safely to his native clime,—
Re-united then, the burden of our joyful song shall be
Rising gratefully and gladly up to heaven—“We are three!”
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |