By Montgomery Edwards
March 15, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 24. Page 4
Shall I ever see again
Friends that love and those I love?
Ah! The thought but gives me pain,
While a wanderer here I rove:
O’er the sea I’ve traveled oft.
Many countries doomed to roam,
Still memory brings the whisper soft,
“Dearest there’s no place like home!”
Life is but a checkered scene,
Bright at best, but oft time’s dark,
Some friends fade, and then again
Some retain the eternal spark.
From the hours that quickly pass,
This the lesson I should learn,
Life’s but a span—all fresh is grass,
And to dust we’ll all return.