A LETTER.
15
Make haste!—I thought my spirit could mock at adverse fate,
But when love draws so near us 't is bitter hard to wait.
But when love draws so near us 't is bitter hard to wait.
"And bring the fond old mother, God bless her! Tell her, dear,
She will not miss the old land when once we have her here;
The graves she left behind her will wring her heart awhile,
But soon again we 'll welcome the sunshine of her smile.
She will not miss the old land when once we have her here;
The graves she left behind her will wring her heart awhile,
But soon again we 'll welcome the sunshine of her smile.
"Alas! the knees I knelt at, are cold beneath the stone,—
She'll be to me, please Heaven, as if she were my own;
And peace and rest and comfort shall fill her failing years,
With little room for sorrow and little cause for tears.
She'll be to me, please Heaven, as if she were my own;
And peace and rest and comfort shall fill her failing years,
With little room for sorrow and little cause for tears.
"Then say your good-by, gayly—and if the tears should start,
Oh crush them back, my darling, and hide them in your heart:
Oh crush them back, my darling, and hide them in your heart:
