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158 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
And in the world above,
That clime of light and love, Millions shall welcome them at last to rest;
And Jesus shall appear,
Jesus their friend most dear, To crown his servants, and pronounce them blest.
IMS.
TO THE WESTERN BREEZE.
Sweet western breeze—sweet western breeze, Now sobbing faintly through the trees, Pause on your fleety pinions here, And brush away my falling tear!
Say, hast thou pass'd that spot afar Where the belov'd of childhood are ? When didst thou wave those homestead trees ? When wast thou there, sweet western breeze ?
Say, wert thou there at morning's dawn ? Or, later still, when eve came on ? And did thy breath, around those eaves, Then gently stir those lattice leaves ?
O ! didst thou catch those tones of love Which follow me where'er I rove ? Still sobbing faintly through the trees, Thou answerest not, sweet western breeze, int. |
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