My little hearts, so fond, so true,
I searched the world all far and wide,
And never found the like of you:
God grant we meet the other side
The darkness 'twixt us, now that stands,
In that new house not made with hands!
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=Sidney Dyer,=[87] about =1820-.=
=405.= THE POWER OF SONG.
However humble be the bard who sings,
If he can touch one chord of love that slumbers,
His name, above the proudest line of kings,
Shall live immortal in his truthful numbers.
The name of him who sung of "Home, sweet home,[88]"
Is now enshrined with every holy feeling;
And though he sleeps beneath no sainted dome,
Each heart a pilgrim at his shrine is kneeling.
The simple lays that wake no tear when sung,
Like chords of feeling from the music taken,
Are, in the bosom of the singer, strung,
Which every throbbing heart-pulse will awaken.
[Footnote 87: A Baptist clergyman, who has lived for many years at
Indianapolis, Indiana; the author of numerous songs.]
[Footnote 88: John Howard Payne.]
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