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THE HEART’S MOTTO.
The sailor, tost on stormy seas,
Though far his bark may roam,
Still hears a voice in every breeze
That wakens thoughts of home.
He thinks upon his distant friends,
His wife, his humble cot;
And from his inmost heart ascends
The prayer—"Forget me not!"
Though far his bark may roam,
Still hears a voice in every breeze
That wakens thoughts of home.
He thinks upon his distant friends,
His wife, his humble cot;
And from his inmost heart ascends
The prayer—"Forget me not!"
The sculptor, painter, while they trace
On canvas, or in stone,
Another's figure, form, or face,
Our motto's spirit own;
Each thus would like to leave behind
His semblance and for what?
But that the thought which fills his mind
Is this—"Forget me not!"
On canvas, or in stone,
Another's figure, form, or face,
Our motto's spirit own;
Each thus would like to leave behind
His semblance and for what?
But that the thought which fills his mind
Is this—"Forget me not!"
The poet too, who, borne along
In thought to distant time,
Pours forth his inmost soul in song,
Holds fast this hope sublime!
He would a glorious name bequeath,
Oblivion shall not blot,
And round that name his thoughts enwreath
The words—"Forget me not!"
In thought to distant time,
Pours forth his inmost soul in song,
Holds fast this hope sublime!
He would a glorious name bequeath,
Oblivion shall not blot,
And round that name his thoughts enwreath
The words—"Forget me not!"
Our motto is, in truth, the voice
Of nature in the heart;
For who from mortal life, by choice,
Forgotten would depart?
Of nature in the heart;
For who from mortal life, by choice,
Forgotten would depart?