“Uncle Tommy is not there,” said the children. “He has gone home. This is only his poor body, here in the ground!” Thus did the influence of his bright, ever-young spirit remain with the “little people” long after Uncle Tommy had ceased to talk with them.
SITTING IN THE SUN.
When Hope deceives, and friends betray,
And kinsmen shun me with a flout;
When hair grows white, and eyes grow dim,
And life’s slow sand is nigh run out,
I’ll ask no boon of any one,
But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.
When memory is my only joy,