Page:Home; or, The unlost paradise (IA homeorunlostpara00palm).pdf/51

 O'er him to throw thy spells. Thy morning smile Will sweetly haunt him through the livelong hours. E'en 'mid the din of business, on his ear Will steal thy tones. As thou each day for him, So he for thee, shall think and plan and toil. Wealth, honor, fame—whate'er of either crowns His patient strivings, most of all for thee His thought will prize; and nightly at thy feet, With noble pride, he will exulting lay The trophies he has won. Or if perchance, In the rough contacts of a restless world, Where thickly, oft, keen shafts of malice fly, He hath been wounded sore; if on him fall Misfortune's lowering shade, with doubt and dread That tire the soul with watching, and his heart, Firm though it be, half faints; he then to thee Shall turn for strength and healing; and thy voice, Thy cheering glance, thy counsels and thy prayer, Shall nerve him all anew; with ardor fired Shall send him to the battle's front again, New triumphs in heroic strife to win.