CARR.

One bright Sunday morn, as I sat in my cell,
My thoughts to the outside did roam;

The sweet songs of birds, as their notes rose and fell,
Turned my mind to my childhood's dear home.

Long years they have passed since I saw that dear spot,
But its sweet memories time can ne'er smother;

I can never forget that dear little cot
And the sweet loving smile of my mother.

In sickness or pain 'twas dear mother that brought
Her sweet self and her charms to allay it;

She learned me a prayer and she lovingly taught
Me to kneel at her knees and to say it.

God's word she would read, and impress on my mind
The love that's conveyed by that story

Of the Savior, who died that millions might find
Eternal rest in His realms of glory.

For years she's been dead, and her low, grassy mound
Reminds me that 'neath it lies sleeping

The dear friend of my youth, whose magic, I found,
Could bring smiles to my face e'en when weeping.

'Tis thus the dear birds, as they joyfully sing
And chirp happy calls to each other,

Remind me that perhaps they were sent for to bring
A message to me from my mother.

But, alas! as I think, upon my mind there quickly falls
The thoughts of my sad degredation;

The strong iron bars, and the grey, sombre walls,
Recall me to my sad situation.

But no more will I sin; I'll live upright for sure;
My passions and temptations I'll smother;

And when God calls me home to that bright shining shore
We'll be happy together, dear mother.