Lines Written from Home
Though bleak these woods, and damp the groundWith fallen leaves so thickly strown,And cold the wind that wanders roundWith wild and melancholy moan;There is a friendly roof, I know,Might shield me from the wintry blast;There is a fire, whose ruddy glowWill cheer me for my wanderings past.
And so, though still, where'er I go,Cold stranger-glances meet my eye;Though, when my spirit sinks in woe,Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh;
Though solitude, endured too long,Bids youthful joys too soon decay,Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue,And overclouds my noon of day;
When kindly thoughts, that would have way,Flow back discouraged to my breast; --I know there is, though far away,A home where heart and soul may rest.
Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine,The warmer heart will not belie;While mirth, and truth, and friendship shineIn smiling lip and earnest eye.
The ice that gathers round my heartMay there be thawed; and sweetly, then,The joys of youth, that now depart,Will come to cheer my soul again.
Though far I roam, that thought shall beMy hope, my comfort, everywhere;While such a home remains to me,My heart shall never know despair!
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