LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME.

    Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, And cold the wind that wanders round With wild and melancholy moan；

    There is a friendly roof I know, Might shield me from the wintry blast； There is a fire whose ruddy glow Will cheer me for my wanderings past.

    And so, though still where'er I go Cold stranger glances meet my eye； Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh；

    Though solitude, endured too long, Bids youthful joys too soon decay, Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, And overclouds my noon of day；When kindly thoughts that would have way Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, I know there is, though far away, A home where heart and soul may rest.

    Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, The warmer heart will not belie； While mirth and truth, and friendship shine In smiling lip and earnest eye.

    The ice that gathers round my heart May there be thawed； and sweetly, then, The joys of youth, that now depart, Will come to cheer my soul again.

    Though far I roam, that thought shall be My hope, my comfort everywhere； While such a home remains to me, My heart shall never know despair.