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Next came a sad procession, With many a sob and tear;A widow'd, childless mother Totter'd by an humble bier.
The vision quickly faded, The sad, unwelcome sight;But his lip forgot its laughter, And his eye its careless light.
A moment, and the flood-gates Of memory opened wide;And remorseful recollection Flowed like a lava tide.
That widow's wail of anguish Seemed strangely 'blending there,And mid the soft lights floated That image of despair.****
THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN.
He came—a wanderer; years of sin Had blanched his blooming cheek,Telling a tale of strife within, That words might vainly speak.
