Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1828.pdf/3



The stranger's heart! oh, wound it not A yearning anguish is its lot; In the green shadow of thy tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee,

Thou think'st the vine's low rustling leaves; Glad music round thy household eaves; To him that sound hath sorrow’s tone— The stranger’s heart is with his own.

Thou think'st thy children's laughing play A lovely sight at fall of day; Then are the stranger’s thoughts opprest— His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.

Thou thinkst it sweet when friend to friend Beneath one roof in prayer may blend; Then doth the stranger's eye grow dim— Far, far are those who prayed with him.

Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land— The voices of thy kindred band, Oh, midst them all when blest thou art, Deal gently with the stranger's heart!