MY FOREFATHERS.
Reading edition
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BY J. HUNT, JR.
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When soft falls the moonlight, and tranquil the hour,
Which holds by a spell the dear scenes of the Past,
How touchingly tender that mystical power
Which throws o’er existence its love to the last.
On the wings of Remembrance, forgetting, forgot
Are the dreams of the Present, as onward we fly,
To place our affections on that hallowed spot
Where the bones of our forefathers mouldering lie.
Deep, pure, in the bosom’s bright innermost shrine,
Are treasured the loves we inherit in Youth;
E’en Age, with its weakness, serves but to refine
Our early impressions of Virtue and Truth.
Those silent Instructors—God grant them a Rest
In mansions prepared for the holy in heart—
For oft do they come from the Land of the Blest,
And to us their kindly monitions impart.