YE fill my heart with gladness, verdant places, That 'mid the city greet me as I pass; Methinks I see of angel steps the traces, Where'er upon my pathway grows the grass. I pause before your gates at early morning, When lies the sward with glittering sheen o'erspread; And think the dew-drops there each blade adorning, Are angels' tears for mortal frailty shed.
And ye, earth's firstlings! here in beauty springing, Erst in your cells by careful winter nursed, And to the morning heaven your incense flinging, As at HIS smile ye forth in joy had burst; How do ye cheer with hope the lonely hour, When on my way I tread despondingly; With thought that HE who careth for the flower Will, in HIS mercy, still remember me.
Breath of our nostrils, THOU! whose love embraces, Whose light shall never from our souls depart; Beneath thy touch hath sprung a green oasis Amid the arid desert of my heart. Thy sun and rain awake the bud of promise, And with fresh leaves in spring-time deck the tree; That where man's hand hath shut out nature from us, We by these glimpses may remember THEE.
I DREAMED that childhood had returned; And oh! 't was sweet to roam Through flowery meads, and birchen groves, That skirt my lowland home. Again I chased the butterfly, And plucked the heather-bell, And wove a flowery coronal For one who loved me well. Again, with bounding step, I ran, And placed it on his brow; Again I to the heart was pressed That's cold and silent now. I saw with joy the mild eye beam That never looked unkind; But with a parent's fondness still To all my faults was blind.
My dream then changed; yet still I was That parent's hope and pride; Though stern realities of life Forced childhood's joys aside. I lived, in memory, o'er again, With bitter tears and sighs, The hour when, far from home and friends, I closed his dying eyes. E'en in that hour of dread and death, How placidly he smiled; And left a lasting legacy, His blessing, for his child!
With agonizing start, I woke, To feel life's every ill; Yet, 'mid misfortune's withering blast, I hear that blessing still: And echo seems, where'er I rove, In gilded hall or bower, To greet me with the voice of love I heard in that lone hour; A gleam of bliss amid the gloom Of sorrow's solitude; A talisman to draw my thoughts Where vice dares not intrude. It oft has checked my wild career When borne on passion's wing; For oh! a parent's blessing is A sweet, a holy thing!