. The Granite monthly : a magazine of literature, history and state progress. new-mown hay ; And the Sabbath bells, as the light breeze swells, ring clear and die away. And Oh, the Lost Ones live again in loves immortal year ! We are children still by the hearth-fires blaze while night steals cold and drear; Our mothers fond caress we win, our fathers smile of pride, And, M Now I lay me down to sleep, say, reverent, at their side. Alas ! alas ! their graves are green or white with a pall of snow, But we see them yet by the evening hearth as in the long ago, And the quiet churchyard where they
. The Granite monthly : a magazine of literature, history and state progress. new-mown hay ; And the Sabbath bells, as the light breeze swells, ring clear and die away. And Oh, the Lost Ones live again in loves immortal year ! We are children still by the hearth-fires blaze while night steals cold and drear; Our mothers fond caress we win, our fathers smile of pride, And, M Now I lay me down to sleep, say, reverent, at their side. Alas ! alas ! their graves are green or white with a pall of snow, But we see them yet by the evening hearth as in the long ago, And the quiet churchyard where they rest is the holiest spot we know. Forget New Hampshire ? Let Kearsarge forget to greet the sun ;Connecticut forsake the sea ; the Shoals their breakers shun ;But fervently, while life shall last, though wide our ways decline,Back to the Mountain-Land our hearts will turn as to a shrine !Forget New Hampshire ? B37 her cliffs, her meads, her brooks afoam,By all her hallowed memories—our lode-star while we roam—Whatever skies above us rise, the Hills, the Hills are Home !. EDNA DEAN Harlan C. Pearson.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookidgranitemonthlymav27conc
