What joyous thought do fill the mind, Of him who homeward is returning, As o’er the sea from a foreign clime, He swiftly sails across the brine, His face assumes a look devine,

’Tis love for dear old homestead, Where he first saw the light of day, Where his childish lips their first prayer said, Where with brothers and sisters he often played, Where oft in the fields as a child he strayed, Where the heart was young and gay.

Ah! home, what makes the name so sweet, O’er all the wide, wide world, How it is who e’er we meet, Whoever we may chance to greet, Would not return with flying feet, To the cot that gave him birth.

’Tis Mother! Oh how sweet the name, We cherish as we roam,

For she our childish love did gain, For us her love will never wain,

’Tis for her sake we come again, Back to the dear old home.

To Sister Kate

Keep this little four-leafed clover, As a token of esteem, Of your home across the ocean, And the fields where you have been.

In the fields you love so dearly,

Where you walked beneath the moon, There I found it as I rambled,

On a lovely morning in June.

Every morning in the springtime, As I saw the clover field,

I did hope that in the summer, A little four-leaf it would yield.

For it was my one ambition, No matter how long I would wait, Just to find that four-leafed clover, And send it to sister Kate.

So upon a lovely morning,

All forgetful of the clover, I did find it unexpected,

And my little task was over.

—180——