Is happiness and e’en Hope’s lamp is dim;
Light—to the dungeon wretch, when the last note
Comes through his grate of the sweet forest hymn;
Her first-born’s breath that the young mother feels,
When her dimm’d eye falls on her little one—
A maiden’s priceless faith that love reveals,
When heart meets heart in holy unison;—
Than these—than all—O! sweeter far to me,
Mother! are thoughts of home, of my sweet home, and thee.