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1840–50].
SARAH T. BOLTON.
373
Reckless of his name and nation,
Reckless of his creed?
Call the roll.
Reckless of his creed?
Call the roll.
Who, that finds a child of sorrow,
Heir to penury and woe,
Will not tarry to inquire
What has made them so,
Ere he freely shares a pittance
From his meager, hard-earned store.
Or bestows a cup of water,
If he can no more?
Call the roll.
Heir to penury and woe,
Will not tarry to inquire
What has made them so,
Ere he freely shares a pittance
From his meager, hard-earned store.
Or bestows a cup of water,
If he can no more?
Call the roll.
Who, when slander's tongue is busy
With an absent neighbor's name.
Will excuse the faults and failings,
And defend his fame?
Who will view poor human nature
Only on the brighest side,
Leaving God to judge the evil
Charity would hide?
Call the roll.
With an absent neighbor's name.
Will excuse the faults and failings,
And defend his fame?
Who will view poor human nature
Only on the brighest side,
Leaving God to judge the evil
Charity would hide?
Call the roll.
WHERE IS THY HOME?
Where is thy home? Where summer
skies are flinging
Rich, mellow light o'er some sea-girded
isle —
Where, in the orange-groves, bright birds
are singing,
And stars are wooing the flowers with
their smile;
Where the soft south wind strays
And palm-leaves quiver,
Through the long pleasant days,
By some bright river —
Is thy home there?
skies are flinging
Rich, mellow light o'er some sea-girded
isle —
Where, in the orange-groves, bright birds
are singing,
And stars are wooing the flowers with
their smile;
Where the soft south wind strays
And palm-leaves quiver,
Through the long pleasant days,
By some bright river —
Is thy home there?
Where is thy home ? Where gallant men
are braving
Danger and death on the red battle-
plain —
Where, in the cannon's smoke, banners
are waving,
And the wild war-horse is trampling
the slain;
Where the dead soldier sleeps —
Wrapped in his glory;
Where the cold night dew steeps
Faces all gory —
Is thy home there?
are braving
Danger and death on the red battle-
plain —
Where, in the cannon's smoke, banners
are waving,
And the wild war-horse is trampling
the slain;
Where the dead soldier sleeps —
Wrapped in his glory;
Where the cold night dew steeps
Faces all gory —
Is thy home there?
Where is thy home? Where ivy-wreaths
are climbing
Over old ruins all moss-grown and
gray-
Where, at the vesper hour, deep bells
a-chiming,
Summon the toil-weary spirit to pray —
Where, as the darkness falls.
Over the gloaming,
Through the dim cloister halls
Pale ghosts are roaming —
Is thy home there?
are climbing
Over old ruins all moss-grown and
gray-
Where, at the vesper hour, deep bells
a-chiming,
Summon the toil-weary spirit to pray —
Where, as the darkness falls.
Over the gloaming,
Through the dim cloister halls
Pale ghosts are roaming —
Is thy home there?
Where is thy home? Where mountain
waves are swelling.
Over the caves of the fathomless deep —
Where, in their coral bowers, Nereids are
knelling
Dirges where beauty and chivalry
sleep —
Where the storm's lurid light.
Fitfully gleaming.
Startles at dead of night,
Men from their dreaming —
Is thy home there ?
waves are swelling.
Over the caves of the fathomless deep —
Where, in their coral bowers, Nereids are
knelling
Dirges where beauty and chivalry
sleep —
Where the storm's lurid light.
Fitfully gleaming.
Startles at dead of night,
Men from their dreaming —
Is thy home there ?
No, dearest, no — Where pleasant words
are spoken,
In a sweet cottage half hidden by
flowers,
Where the dear household band never is
broken.
Where hope and happiness wing the
glad hours —
From care and strife apart,
Never more roving,
In my adoring heart.
Faithful and loving —
There is thy home.
are spoken,
In a sweet cottage half hidden by
flowers,
Where the dear household band never is
broken.
Where hope and happiness wing the
glad hours —
From care and strife apart,
Never more roving,
In my adoring heart.
Faithful and loving —
There is thy home.
