The Farm House by the River

I know a little country place Where still my heart doth linger, And o'er its fields is every grace Lined out by memory's finger. Back from the lane where poplars grew And aspens quake and quiver, There stands all bath'd in summer's glow A farm house by the river.

Its eaves are touched with golden light So sweetly, softly shining, And morning glories full and bright About the doors are twining. And there endowed with every grace That nature's hand could giver her, There lived the angel of the place In the farm house by the river.

Her eyes were blue, her hair was gold, Her face was bright and sunny; The songs that from her bosom rolled Were sweet as summer's honey. And I loved her well, that maid divine, And I prayed the Gracious Giver, That I some day might call her mine In the farm house by the river.

Twas not to be -- but God knows best. His will for aye be heeded! Perhaps amid the angels' bliss, My little love was needed. Her spirit from its thralldom torn Went singing o'er the river, And that sweet life my heart shall mourn Forever and forever.

She dies one morn at early light When all the birds are singing, And Heaven itself in pure delight Its bells of joy seemed ringing. They laid her dust where soon and late The solemn grasses quiver, And left alone and desolate The farm house by the river.