 | Poems by George P. Morris |  |
THE SONGS OF HOME.
Oh, sing once more those dear, familiar lays,
Whose gliding measure every bosom thrills,
And takes my heart back to the happy days
When first I sang them on my native hills!
With the fresh feelings of the olden times,
I hear them now upon a foreign shore—
The simple music and the artless rhymes!
Oh, sing those dear, familiar lays once more,
Those cheerful lays of other days—
Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more!
Whose gliding measure every bosom thrills,
And takes my heart back to the happy days
When first I sang them on my native hills!
With the fresh feelings of the olden times,
I hear them now upon a foreign shore—
The simple music and the artless rhymes!
Oh, sing those dear, familiar lays once more,
Those cheerful lays of other days—
Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more!
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Oh, sing once more those joy-provoking strains,
Which, half forgotten, in my memory dwell;
They send the life-blood bounding thro' my veins,
And linger round me like a fairy spell.
The songs of home are to the human heart
Far dearer than the notes that song-birds pour,
And of our very nature form a part:
Then sing those dear, familiar lays once more!
Those cheerful lays of other days—
Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more!
Which, half forgotten, in my memory dwell;
They send the life-blood bounding thro' my veins,
And linger round me like a fairy spell.
The songs of home are to the human heart
Far dearer than the notes that song-birds pour,
And of our very nature form a part:
Then sing those dear, familiar lays once more!
Those cheerful lays of other days—
Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more!
| Poems by George P. Morris | |