Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/172

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And homewards hither, o'er the main, Came the spring-birds alone.

Is there not cause, then—cause for thought, Fix'd eye and lingering tread, Where, with their thousand mysteries fraught, Ev'n lowliest hearts have bled? Where, in its ever-haunting thirst For draughts of purer day, Man's soul, with fitful strength, hath burst The clouds that wrapt its way?

Holy to human nature seems The long-forsaken spot; To deep affections, tender dreams, Hopes of a brighter lot! Therefore in silent reverence here, Hearth of the dead! I stand, Where joy and sorrow, smile and tear, Have link'd one household band.