An image, the foreground presents to my sight,
Which shed o'er my pathway its radiant light;
An image of him who first held my soft hand,
And shouted with joy when his sister could stand;
From him, I first caught the sweet magical art
Of turning to language, the thoughts of my heart;
When first to the school-house he went as my guide.
His heart swelled with pleasure, affection and pride.
Delighted, we ranged o'er the hillside, in spring,
And listened with rapture to hear the birds sing;