Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/56
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POEMS.
And now, how gladly we behold, at last,
The wonted smile returning to thy brow;
The very wind's low whisper, breathing past,
In the light leaves, is music to thee now.
The wonted smile returning to thy brow;
The very wind's low whisper, breathing past,
In the light leaves, is music to thee now.
Thou wert not weary of thy lot; the earth
Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight;
Still clung thy loves about the household hearth,
And sweet was every day's returning light.
Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight;
Still clung thy loves about the household hearth,
And sweet was every day's returning light.
Then welcome back to all thou would'st not leave,
To this grand march of seasons, days and hours;
The glory of the morn, the glow of eve,
The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers;
To this grand march of seasons, days and hours;
The glory of the morn, the glow of eve,
The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers;
To eyes on which thine own delight to rest;
To voices which it is thy joy to hear;
To voices which it is thy joy to hear;