O Song!  O fount of sweetest nectar welling! 
  Of thy refreshings let my sad heart drink;
’Tis past!—­too late—­too late, vain trump, your swelling;
My spirit ear hath heard a surer knelling—­
’Tis passing sweet, what these mule wires are telling—­
  O what a joy to think!

MY COTTAGE HOME.

A VESPER HYMN.

Awake, my harp! a song for thee,
  While the mellow tinge of sunset lingers;
’Tis an eve of June! and the sweets are free—­
  Wilt thou trill to the touch of outwearied fingers? 
      For the day’s well spent,
      And I’m content,
  Tho’ weary and worn, and worn and weary;
      ’Tis a heaven below,
      The joys to know—­
  The joys of a Cottage Home so cheery.

The world’s all beauteous now and bright,
  And calm as a cradled infant sleeping,
And the chords of love are attuned aright,
  Far joyous thoughts in the heart are leaping
      As free and sweet
      As a brother’s greet
  In a foreign land all strange and dreary;
      And halls more bright
      Have less delight,
  I ween, than my Cottage Home so cheery.

My Cottage Home!  My Cottage Home! 
  With its trellised vines around the casement clinging,
And the happy strain of that sweet refrain,
  The gentle tones of loved ones ringing,
      When the day’s well spent,
      And all content. 
  What though the o’er-labored limbs are weary? 
      Our hearts are free
      And merry, and we
  Rejoice in a Cottage Home so cheery.

With wants so few, while hearts so true,
  With a fond concern, are beating near us;
We’ll cheerfully toil while we meet the smile. 
  The approving smile of Him to cheer us,
      Who makes us to know
      The poor and the low. 
  Tho’ weary and worn, and worn and weary,
      At last will rest
      With the truly blest—­
  O! this makes a Cottage Home so cheery.

THE MIGHTY ONE.

You have felt his power—­you have felt his power—­
  For a mighty one is he: 
He is found in the field and is known in the bower
And hid in the cup of the tenderest flower,
  He lurks where you may not see.

He’s a sleepless sprite, and at dead of night
  He’ll come with his feathery tread,
And dally with fancy, and play with your dreams,
And light up your vision with silver beams,
  Though he leaves you an aching head.

Away, and away, like a thought, he flies,
  His home in the air and sea;
Of all that is earth he claims a birth,
And he speaks in the wind, and his voice goes forth
  On the breeze’s back, unceasingly.

In the sea’s great deeps, where the mermaid sleeps,
  In chambers of coral and gold—­
Where the Sirocco sweeps and Loneliness weeps
O’er temples all silent, where dark ivy creeps,
  And places that never were told—­