THE RETURN.

Grateful to our sleepless eyes,

Lo, the beams of morn arise,

And the mountain-tops are gray

With the light of coming day,—

And the birds are on the wing.

With the happy birds we'll sing

Bidding doubt and gloom be gone,

Like the shadows at the dawn.

Yes, for eyes as bright as day

Glance adown the shady way;

Gentle voices with delight

Whisper, “They will come to-night”;

Hearts as fond and true as ours

Wait for us in lovely bowers:

Nor shall wait for us in vain,

Faithful ones, we come again.

Where the bending willows weep,

And the mosses slowly creep,

We our harps neglected hung.

Soon again they will be strung,—

Forest, dell, and mountain stream

Will take up the blissful theme

When no longer doomed to roam

We can chant the praise of home.

Lo, in yonder sky the sun

Half his daily task has done;

We will rest beside the spring,

While the bird with folded wing

Sits within his cool retreat,

Shaded from the noontide heat,

And the bees, with drowsy hum,

Homeward, honey-laden come.

Homeward too our way we hold,

Laden, not with paltry gold,

But with treasures better far

Than the richest jewels are:

Simple, trusting hearts, content

With the blessings Heaven has lent.

Once within our love-lit cot,

Rich and great we envy not.

Lo, the shadows lengthen fast;

Now the well-known hills are past;

Now the forest, dark and tall —

Oh, how we remember all!

Now the pastures strewn with rocks,

Where we used to watch our flocks,—

Farther down the winding road,

See! it is our own abode.

Where the slanting sunbeams fall

On the lowly cottage wall,

Fancy can already trace

Each belov'd, familiar face:

One by one each form appears

Till our eyes are dim with tears;

If the foretaste be so sweet

Soon our joy will be complete!

Here we are! But all is still

Save the ever-murmuring rill,—

Save the hooting of the owl,

And the village watch-dog's howl,

Slowly swings the cottage door —

Shall we cross the threshold o'er?

Empty and deserted all —

Echo answers to our call!

Where the bending willow tree

Oft has sheltered thee and me,

Lo, the turf has been uptorn:

We have come,— but come to mourn!

Eyes are dim and lips are cold,

And our arms we sadly fold

Over hearts, till hushed and dead,

Never to be comforted!

No; our hearts shall still be strong,

For the journey is not long;

In a holy, deathless land

We shall meet our household band:

In the fairer bowers above,

They await the friends they love,

Oh, what joy with them to dwell,

Never more to say farewell!