Oh! sweet the whispers of the Spring
Which stir the greening leaves; And sweet the melodies which ring
Through Autumn's golden sheaves. Oh! sweet the prattle of the rill
As, in its youthful pride, It danceth down the smiling hill
To join the foaming tide.

But, sweeter far than nature's chime
Unto a mother's ear; More tender than the river's rhyme
Those tones she longs to hear. Those notes unset to music's rule;
Those high-strung notes of joy, Which herald coming home from school;
The coming of her boy.

Oh! beauteous are the rainbow hues
Which deck the oriole's wing; And sparkling bright the pearly dews
Which 'round fair morning cling. Oh! lovely are the flowers which wreathe
Heaven's hope o'er earth's dark wold; And grander far than aught beneath,
Those orbs of gleaming gold.

But, unto mother-love aye true,
More bright than amber sky That boyish form against the blue,
With ensign cap swung high. The beauty of that fair young face
Outshines heaven's clearest star; Nor ills of time will blur its grace,
Nor fate impress one scar.

The waning year is nigh its round,
The air is crisp and cool; Though footsteps linger, love, unbound,
Doth greet my boys from school. I feel the shadows lengthening,
The twilight slipping fast; Yet, through the good God strengthening,
Dark night is soon o'erpast.

Methinks, even in that holier land,
I'll cross the pearly floor, And by the blessed angel stand
Who guards the hallowed door. And, while seraphic voices soar,
Amid supremest joys, From earth's hard school, I'll list once more
To welcome home my boys.