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And now I steal at night to see
 The soft clear moonbeams playing o'er
Their hallow'd beds, and long to be
 Where all most prized have gone before.

Now I can calmly gaze around
 On osier'd heaps, with yearning eye,
And murmur o'er the grassy mound—
 "'Tis a glorious privilege to die!"

The grave hath lost its conquering might,
 And death its dreaded sting of pain,
Since they but ope the path of light
 To lead me to the loved again.

 

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A HOME IN THE HEART.

Oh! ask not a home in the mansions of pride,
 Where marble shines out in the pillars and walls;
Though the roof be of gold it is brilliantly cold,
 And joy may not be found in its torch-lighted halls.
But seek for a bosom all honest and true,
 Where love, once awaken'd, will never depart:
Turn, turn to that breast like a dove to the nest,
 And you'll find there's no home like a home in the heart.

Oh! link but one spirit that's warmly sincere,
 That will heighten your pleasure and solace your care;
Find a soul you may trust as the kind and the just,
 And be sure the wide world holds no treasure so rare.
Then the frowns of Misfortune may shadow our lot,
 The check-searing tear-drops of Sorrow may start,
But a star never dim, sheds a halo for him
 Who can turn for repose to a home in the heart.

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