THE ASHGROVE
The Ashgrove
1. The ash grove how graceful, how plainly tis speaking,
The harp through it playing has language for me;
When ever the light through its branches is break-ing,
A Ahost of kind faces is gazing on me.
The friends of my childhood again are before me,
Each step wakes a mem`ry, as freely I roam,
With soft whispers laden, its leaves rustle o`er me,
The ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home.
2. My lips smile no more, my heart los-es its lightness,
No dream of the future my spirit can cheer,
I only would brood on the past and its brightness,
The dead I have mourn`d are again living here.
From ev`ry dark nook they press forward to meet me,
I lift up my eyes to the broad leafy dome,
And others are there looking downward to greet me,
The ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home.