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So let my past stand, just as it stands.
And let me now, as I may, grow old;
I am what I am, and my life for me Is the best.— or it had not been, I hold. .
I Thought to find some healing clime [shore,
For her I loved; she found that That city, whose inhabitants
Are sick and sorrowful no more.
I asked for human love for her;
The Loving knew how best to still The infinite yearning of a heart,
Which but infinity could fill.
Such sweet communion had been ours
I prayed that it might never end; My prayer is more than answered; now
I have an angel for my friend.
I wished for perfect peace, to soothe The troubled anguish of her breast; [called.
And, numbered with the loved and
Life was so fair a thing to her,
My wish was granted me, for lo!
Oi'R old brown homestead reared its walls
From the way-side dust aloof, Where the apple-boughs could almost cast
Their fruit upon its roof; And the cherry-tree so near it grew
That when awake I've lain In the lonesome nights, I've heard the limbs
As they creaked against the pane: And those orchard trees, oh those orchard trees!
I've seen my little brothers rocked In their tops by the summer breeze.
The sweet-briar, under the windowsill,
Which the early birds made glad, And the damask rose, by the gardenfence,
Were all the flowers we had. I've looked at many a flower since then,
Exotics rich and rare,
But not to me so fair; For those roses bright, oh, those roses bright! flocks,
I have twined them in my sister's That are hid in the dust from sight.
We had a well, a deep old well.
Where the spring was never dry. And the cool drops down from the mossy stones Were falling constantly; And there never was water half so sweet
As the draught which filled my cup, Drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep That my father's hand set up. And that deep old well, oh that deep old well!
I remember now the plashing sound Of the bucket as it fell.
Our homestead had an ample hearth, Where at night we loved to meet; There my mother's voice was always kind,
And her smile was always sweet; And there I've sat on my father's knee,
And watched his thoughtful brow, With my childish hand in his raven hair.— That hair is silver now! But that broad hearth's light, oh,
that broad hearth's light! And my father's look, and my mother's smile, They are in my heart to-night!