Seeking for hidden pearls to wear,

Fame’s golden wreath, the victors bear.

Oh! yonder I see a lone bird flying,

Seeking her nest with voice of sighing.

Dear mother! as the wearied bird her downy nest,

So seek I thee, for quiet rest.

My lot is now to tread

A troubled path whence light hath fled;

But ne’er do I thy words forget,

Or smiles of love from thee I’ve met.

I think of thee in morning’s beaming light,

In burning noon and shadowy night.

Dear mother! mid all my thoughtless wanderings wild,

Still clings to thee thy devoted child.

Whate’er my future lot may be,

On life’s tempestuous trackless sea,

Oh, may I never, where’er I roam,

Forget the cheering light of home,

That blessed light to the wanderer given,

To guide the way that leads to Heaven.

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