In its warm glow is gone!
Who ne’er hath oped his heart
To that dove-messenger on life’s dark sea,
Binds down his soul, in cold, mistaken art,
When vainly hoping he has made it free!
In earth’s great family he takes no part—
He has not learned to be!
Who longs to feel its glow,
And nurtures every spark unto him given,
Has instincts of the rapture he shall know