Oh, let the kindred circle,
Far in our northern land,
From heart to heart draw closer
Affection's strength'ning hand:
To fill my place long vacant,
Soon may our loved ones learn;
For to our pleasant dwelling
I never shall return.
Peace to each heart that troubled
My course of happy years;
Peace to each angry spirit
That quench'd my life in tears!
Let not the thought of vengeance
Be mingled with regret;
Forgive my wrongs, dear mother!
Seek even to forget.
Give to the friend, the stranger,
Whatever once was mine;
Nor keep the smallest token
To wake fresh tears of thine,--
Save one, one loved memorial,
With thee I fain would leave;
'Tis one that will not teach thee
Yet more for me to grieve.
'Twas mine when early childhood
Turn'd to its sacred page,
The gay, the thoughtless glances
Of almost infant age;
'Twas mine thro' days yet brighter,
The joyous years of youth,
When never had affliction
Bow'd down mine ear to truth.
'Twas mine when deep devotion
Hung breathless on each line
Of pardon, peace, and promise,
Till I could call them mine;
Till o'er my soul's awakening
The gift of Heavenly love,
The spirit of adoption,
Descended from above.
Unmark'd, unhelp'd, unheeded,
In heart I've walk'd alone;
Unknown the prayers I've utter'd,
The hopes I held, unknown;
Till in the hour of trial,
Upon the mighty train,
With strength and succour laden,
To bear the weight of pain.
Then, Oh! I fain would leave thee,
For now my hours are few,
The hidden mine of treasure,
Whence all my strength I drew.
Take then the gift, my mother,
And till thy path is trod,
Thy child's last token cherish--
It is the Book of God.