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THE ORPHAN'S VISION.
Her father's form, beneath a foreign soil,With foreign blossoms o'er his tomb to wave.For they were wanderers in that sunny land;Their own sweet home lay far across the seas. The last sad moment came; the mother claspedThe maiden's hand within her own so cold,And gazed upon her with a look whose deep,Deep meaning none might understand save her,So long the object of that mother's love. Her spirit gently winged its flight to heaven;And when o'er earth another bright day dawned,The maiden stood beside her mother's grave.She lingered there awhile, then turned away,A lonely orphan in a stranger's land. Yet were the faces kind that on her gazed,And kindly voices fell upon her ear,And gentle hands brought gifts of lovely flowers,And curious sea-shells from the ocean shore;And voices, sweet with richest melodyOf sound, and in true soul of music, sangIn glowing strains of their own land of flowers,Yet could not lift the shadows from her soul. And then was sent a message o'er the seasTo friends who knew her in her childhood days,Who came and bore her to her native land.And while her soul was wrapt in grief's dark pall,She oft would muse upon the lessons taught
