"I love to gaze upon one fair star, That beameth at eve 'mid the western skies, The light of thy gentle, earnest eyes; "And now on Memory's page I see A bright, bright vision of bygone hours, When the footsteps of Time unheard went by, So lightly he trod, 'mid the summer flowers ; When I roamed o'er the meadows, so happy and free, Through the bright summer days, dear mother, with thee. "And another vision comes o'er me now, When, full of the hopes that youth will frame, I stood on the threshold of my home, And vowed I would earn both wealth and fame, "And when, at length, with eager step, I sought again my native cot, A dream of my childhood came o'er my soul, "I heard the murmur of the stream That flowed beside our cottage door, And I sought and found each childish haunt That was dear to my heart in the days of yore, Each flowery dell, each familiar tree, But, mother, oh mother, I found not thee. "For strangers dwelt in my childhood's home, And they pointed me out a mossy grave, Where she lay for whom I had toiled and striven, The mother I would have died to save; And I knelt by that grave 'neath the chesnut-tree, And, mother, I longed to die with thee. "Heart-sick, and loathing the light of day, I left, for ever, my native glen, To roam once more o'er the ocean wide, Away, far away, from the haunts of men: Away, o'er the dark and silent sea, A few short hours and the scene is changed, And athwart it the storm-clouds swiftly fly : And he, as he watches that raging sea, Murmurs, "Mother, ere long I shall be with thee." I The end has come-one fearful cry Rings echoing o'er the waters wide, As the gallant ship, with her living freight, Sinks helpless beneath the seething tide, And once more that voice, o'er the surging sea, Cries, "Mother, oh mother, I come to thee!" GOOD-NIGHT. GOOD-NIGHT-sweet word to those for whom It brings no thought of sorrow. "Good-night, farewell till morning's light; We'll meet again to-morrow. "Bright dreams attend thy sleeping hours, Shall chase the gloomy shades of night, "Good angels watch around thy couch, God have thee in His keeping." Sweet word, how precious e'en to those That word so full of household love, Replete with tender feeling, So oft, beneath its simple sound, But the sad, lingering, last good-night Who know that daylight's bright return How lingeringly they speak the word, And precious, far more precious then, Then let us ever hold it dear, If sad our hearts or light; We know not when our hour may come To breathe a last good-night. |