While Memory sits by the ingleside,
And Home goes forth with the world-wide rover
To ev’ry country o’er ev’ry tide;
And when the Autumn has drooped and died
We live our Summers, our Summers, over.
Life has its seasons and life its sorrows,
When the soul sits dreaming a dream like this,
When the hungry heart from the pale past borrows
A silenced voice or an ended kiss—
Yea, in our sorrow we find our bliss,