For far out o’er the broadest prairie plain,
Onward you pressed a distant home to gain.
Days, even weeks, so pleasantly passed o’er,
That mem’ry brought back those sweet days of yore;
Those days of thy youth for which you did sigh,
But ne’er did ye think that some soon should die.
For days of sadness, those days that come to all,
From the humblest cot to the palace hall,
When gathering darkness cloud the clear, blue sky,
Our brightest prospects all in ruin lie.