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MY NEW HOME. 369 |
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Pilgrims of succeeding years,
Who are journeying near her rest, Oft shall pause with thoughts of gloom, In the shade of Rachel's tomb.
1848.
MY NEW HOME. And here I must watch, in their beautiful light, The stars of the evening all radiant and bright; And here I must trace the soft moonlight of even, And list to the swell of the wild winds of heaven; Here watch the fierce storm on its dark wintry
wing, And wait for the smile and the music of spring.
I must hold communion with scenes that are new: The fields and the forests, which no w meet my view, Are all strange as the friends who surround me
here,— I brush from my eyelid one sorrowful tear; For, what if that friend, who is dearest of all, Should behold the sad tear from my eyelid fall!
Would he chide me for weeping ? He knows my
heart,— He knows for his sake I am willing to part With scenes most familiar, with friends most ■■■
beloved, With haunts where my footsteps have formerly
roved:
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