Lines Written From Home

Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground,

With fallen leaves so thickly strewn,

And cold the wind that wanders

With wild and melancholy moan;

There is a friendly roof I know,

Might shield me from the wintry blast;

There is a fire whose ruddy

Will cheer me for my wanderings past.

And so, though still where'er I

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

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

In smiling lip and earnest eye.

The ice that gathers round my

May 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

My hope, my comfort everywhere;

While such a home remains to me,

My heart shall never know despair.