The Light of Home
My
boy,
thou
wilt
dream
the
world
is
fair,
And
thy
spirit
will
sigh
to
roam:
And
thou
must
go;
but
never,
when
there,
Forget
the
light
of
home.
Though
pleasure
may
smile
with
a
ray
more
bright,
It
dazzles
to
lead
astray:
Like
the
meteor's
flash,
'twill
deepen
the
night
When
thou
treadest
the
lonely
way.
But
the
hearth
of
home
has
a
constant
flame,
And
pure
as
vestal
fire:
'Twill
burn,
'twill
burn,
for
ever
the
same,,
For
nature
feeds
the
pyre.
The
sea
of
ambition
is
tempest-tost,
And
thy
hopes
may
vanish
like
foam;
But
when
sails
are
shiver'd,
and
rudder
lost,
Then
look
to
the
light
of
home;
And
then,
like
a
star
through
the
midnight
cloud,
Thou
shalt
see
the
beacon
bright!
For
never,
till
shining
on
thy
shroud,
Can
be
quench'd
its
holy
light.
The
sun
of
fame,
'twill
gild
the
name;
But
the
heart
ne'er
felt
its
ray;
And
fashion's
smiles,
that
rich
ones
claim,
Are
but
the
beams
of
a
wintry
day.
And
how
cold
and
dim
those
beams
must
be,
Should
life's
wretched
wanderer
come!
But,
my
boy,
when
the
world
is
dark
to
thee,
Then
turn
to
the
light
of
home.
