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My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,

And thy spirit will sigh to roam;
And thou must go; but never, when there,

Forget the light of home.

Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright,

It dazzles to lead astray;
Like the meteor's flash, 'twill deepen the night,

When thou treadest the lonely way.

But the hearth of home has a constant flame,

And pure as vestal fire: 'Twill burn, 'twill burn, for ever the same,

For nature feeds the pyre.

The sea of ambition is tempest tost,

And thy hopes may vanish like foam;
But when sails are shivered and rudder lost,

Then look to the light of home;

And there, like a star through the midnight cloud,

Thou shalt see the beacon bright; For never, till shining on thy shroud,

Can be quenched its holy light.

The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name;

But the heart ne'er felt its ray;
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim,

Are but beams of a wintry day.

And how cold and dim those beams must be,

Should life's wretched wanderer come! But, my boy, when the world is dark to thee,

Then turn to the light of home.



Yes, dear one, to the envied train

Of those around thy homage pay ;
But wilt thou never kindly deign

To think of him that's far away?
Thy form, thine eye, thine angel smile,

For many years I may not see;
But wilt thou not sometimes the while,

My sister dear, remember me?

But not in Fashion's brilliant hall,

Surrounded by the gay and fair, And thou the fairest of them all,

O, think not, think not of me there

But when the thoughtless crowd is gone,

And hushed the voice of senseless glee, And all is silent, still, and lone,

And thou art sad, remember me.

Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er,

When, in his orbit fair and high, The morning's glowing charioteer

Rides proudly up the blushing sky; But when the waning moonbeam sleeps

At moonlight on that lonely lea, And nature's pensive spirit weeps

In all her dews, remember me.

Remember me, I pray-but not

In Flora's gay and blooming hour, When every brake hath found its note,

And sunshine smiles in every flower; But when the falling leaf is sere,

And withers sadly from the tree, And o'er the ruins of the year

Cold autumn weeps, remember me.

Remember me—but choose not, dear,

The hour when, on the gentle lake, The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,

Soft rippling, to the margin break; But when the deafening billows foam

In madness o'er the pathless sea, Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam

Across them, and remember me.

Remember me-but not to join

If haply some thy friends should praise ; 'Tis far too dear, that voice of thine,

To echo what the stranger says.
They know us not-but shouldst thou meet

Some faithful friend of me and thee,
Softly, sometimes, to him repeat
My name, and then remember me.

Remember me-not, I entreat,

In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet,

Thy thought thy pleasure should alloy ;
But on the sacred, solemn day,

And, dearest, on thy bended knee,
When thou for those thou lovest dost pray,

Sweet spirit, then remember me.

Remember me-but not as I

On thee forever, ever dwell,
With anxious heart and drooping eye,

And doubts 'twould grieve thee should I tell; But in thy calm, unclouded heart,

Where dark and gloomy visions flee, Oh there, my sister, be my part,

And kindly there remember me.

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DEAR parents, grieve no more for me;

My parents, grieve no more;
Believe that I am happier far

Than even with you before.
I've left a world where wo and sin

Swell onward as a river,
And gained a world where I shall rest

In peace and joy forever.

Our Father bade me come to him,

He gently bade me come,
And he has made his heavenly house

My dwelling-place and home.
On that best day of all the seven,

Which saw the Saviour rise,
I heard the voice you could not hear,
Which called me to the skies.

I saw, too, what you could not see,

Two beauteous angels stand ;
They smiling stood, and looked at me,

And beckoned with their hand;
They said they were my sisters dear,

And they were sent to bear
My spirit to their blessed abode,

To live forever there.

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