One day shall my darling read it;
Now she cannot understand
All the noble thoughts, that lighten
Through the genius of the land.
I am proud to be his brother,
Proud to think that hope was true;
Though I longed and strove so vainly,
What I failed in, he could do.
I was long before I knew it,
Longer ere I felt it so;
Then I strung my rhymes together
Only for the poor and low.
And, it pleases me to know it,
( For I love them well indeed,)
They care for my humble verses,
Fitted for their humble need.
And, it cheers my heart to bear it,
Where the far-off settlers roam,
My poor words are sung and cherished,
Just because they speak of Home.
And the little children sing them,
( That, I think, has pleased me best,)
Often, too, the dying love them,
For they tell of Heaven and rest.
So my last vain dream has faded;
( Such as I to think of fame! )
Yet I will not say it failed me,
For it crowned my Godfrey's name.
No; my Angel did not cheat me,
For my long life has been blest;
He did give me Love and Sorrow,
He will bring me Light and Rest.