Detroit, March 1, 1862.
Standing by the school-room window all the idle hour of noon,
Tapping off with listless fingers on the pane an olden tune,
Wandering, wandering ever backward, far into the heretofore,
Gathering up the pebbles lying all along on memory's shore;
Through the ways I've trodden over, where my footsteps yet are seen,--
Footsteps that e'er long will mingle ever more with what has been,--
Through the spots so sadly haunted only by an echo now,
I have wandered, only finding garlands for my brow.
From the low roof-tree whose shelter was above my youthful head,
From the trees and flowers I cherished--from their beauty I have fled;
Trees and flowers will keep on growing, tended by another's care,
Sifting through their leaves the moonlight, as they did when I was there.
From the church whose quiet altar was an ever dear retreat,
Through the years whose passing sobered fast my childhood's restless feet,
And from friends who loved me truly, true in happiness and tears,
I have passed to tread another pathway through the vale of years.
Ties are broken; I have drifted from the haven sweet of home
And across its hallowed threshold, stranger feet will go and come;
And the dear ones who were gathered by the fires in days of yore
Now by fortune widely scattered, will, I ween, meet there no more.
All of this have I been thinking, in the idle hour of noon,
Standing, listless, at the window, humming o'er a pensive tune;
And I thanked the great All-Father, that the parted ways will meet,
In the calm, eternal sunshine where He'll bring our wand'ring feet.
