Thoughts On Leaving Home

By Achsa White Sprague

Must I now leave thee, thou home
Of my childhood's mirth?
Must I bid a farewell
To my father's hearth?

Must I leave all the friends
That I've treasured here,
And the beautiful scenes
That to me are dear?

Yes, yes, I must leave ye, --
Each bright sunny glade,
Each beautiful prospect
In sunlight and shade.

I must go from my home
To a stranger land,
I must sever the chord
Of the household band.

I shall then no more know
A mother's fond prayer,
The love of a sister,
Or a brother's care.

In the home of a stranger
My lot is now cast; --
Is it strange that I grieve
For joys that are past?

The grief of a moment
Is passing away,
For much as I love home,
Yet I would not stay.

The far-off world calls me,
In visions so bright,
When imagination
Takes its far flight, --

That I must e'en leave thee,
In strange lands to dwell:
So all that I love here,
Farewell! farewell!

An early poem, composed during sickness.