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the emigrant child to his parent.
Father, come home!—the radiant sun is streaming
Through the leaf-circled lattice on our floor,
While little sister, with her bright hair gleaming
In golden glory, s playing at the door
I see the rose leaves light upon her tresses,
Borne by the breeze from off our cottage wall,
As she, all happiness, bestows caresses,
Talks to, and lullabies her waxen doll.
Through the leaf-circled lattice on our floor,
While little sister, with her bright hair gleaming
In golden glory, s playing at the door
I see the rose leaves light upon her tresses,
Borne by the breeze from off our cottage wall,
As she, all happiness, bestows caresses,
Talks to, and lullabies her waxen doll.
And, Oh! I hear my gentle mother singing
The happy lays she used so sweet to sing,
Whilst the deep notes are through the chambers ringing
Of my caged warbler of the yellow wing.
All in our dear old home is joy and gladness,
Then wherefore should we linger longer here?
Alas! you shake your head again in sadness;
Again there glistens in your eye a tear.
The happy lays she used so sweet to sing,
Whilst the deep notes are through the chambers ringing
Of my caged warbler of the yellow wing.
All in our dear old home is joy and gladness,
Then wherefore should we linger longer here?
Alas! you shake your head again in sadness;
Again there glistens in your eye a tear.
Ah! then, 'tis certain 'twas no midnight dreaming,
No vision which in slumber rose to view,
Those doleful coffins and pale faces gleaming,
White shrouds and silence were, alas! too true.
My mother and the little ones are sleeping
Far, far away, beneath the lonely sod,
But we shall meet them where there is no weeping,
Nor grief, nor darkness, in the land of God.
No vision which in slumber rose to view,
Those doleful coffins and pale faces gleaming,
White shrouds and silence were, alas! too true.
My mother and the little ones are sleeping
Far, far away, beneath the lonely sod,
But we shall meet them where there is no weeping,
Nor grief, nor darkness, in the land of God.
