HIGHLAND HUT

See what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built Cot,

Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it may,

Shines in the greeting of the sun's first ray

Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot.

The limpid mountain rill avoids it not;

And why shouldst thou?— If rightly trained and bred,

Humanity is humble, finds no spot

Which her Heaven-guided feet refuse to tread.

The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery roof,

Undressed the pathway leading to the door;

But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor;

Search, for their worth, some gentle heart wrong-proof,

Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials fewer,

Belike less happy.— Stand no more aloof!