And never, never more to come--
She dwells within the shadowy land,
Who was the Mother of that Home!
How oft they miss that tender guide,
The care--the watch--the face--the MOTHER--
And where she sate the babes beside,
Sits with unloving looks--ANOTHER!

* * * * *

While the mass is cooling now,
Let the labour yield to leisure,
As the bird upon the bough,
Loose the travail to the pleasure.
When the soft stars awaken,
Each task be forsaken!

And the vesper-bell lulling the earth into peace,
If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release!

Gleesome and gay,
On the welcoming way,
Through the wood glides the wanderer home!
And the eye and ear are meeting,
Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating--
Now, the wonted shelter near,
Lowing the lusty-fronted steer;
Creaking now the heavy wain,
Reels with the happy harvest grain.
Which with many-coloured leaves,