I've marked your love or right, Willie, Your proud disdain of wrong; I know you'd rather aid the weak Than battle for the strong. The golden rule--religion's stay-- With constancy pursue, Which renders others all that they On earth can render you, Willie, On earth can render you. A conscience void of guile, Willie, A disposition kind, A nature, gentle and sincere, Accomplished and refined: A mind that was not formed to bow, An aspiration high, Are written on your manly brow, And in your cheerful eye, Willie, And in your cheerful eye. I never look at you, Willie, But with an anxious prayer That you will ever be to me What now I know you are. I do not find a fault to chide, A foible to annoy, For you are all your father's pride, And all your mother's joy, Willie, And all your mother's joy. You're all that I could hope, Willie, And more than I deserve; Your pressure of affection now I feel in every nerve. I love you--not for station--land-- But for yourself alone: And this is why I clasp your hand, So fondly in my own, Willie, So fondly in my own. The Rock of the Pilgrims. [See Note] A rock in the wilderness welcomed our sires, From bondage far over the dark-rolling sea; On that holy altar they kindled the fires, Jehovah, which glow in our bosoms for Thee. Thy blessings descended in sunshine and shower, Or rose from the soil that was sown by Thy hand; The mountain and valley rejoiced in Thy power, And heaven encircled and smiled on the land. The Pilgrims of old an example have given Of mild resignation, devotion, and love, Which beams like the star in the blue vault of heaven, A beacon-light swung in their mansion above. In church and cathedral we kneel in OUR prayer-- Their temple and chapel were valley and hill-- But God is the same in the isle or the air, And He is the Rock that we lean upon still. Years Ago. Near the banks of that lone river, Where the water-lilies grow, Breathed the fairest flower that ever Bloomed and faded years ago. Now we met and loved and parted, None on earth can ever know-- Nor how pure and gentle-hearted Beamed the mourned one years ago! Like the stream with lilies laden, Will life's future current flow, Till in heaven I meet the maiden Fondly cherished years ago. Hearts that love like mine forget not; They're the same in weal or wo; And that star of memory set not In the grave of years ago. The Soldier's Welcome Home. [See Notes] (Written upon the return of General Scott from his brilliant Mexican campaign.) Victorious the hero returns from the wars, His brow bound with laurels that never will fade, While streams the free standard of stripes and of stars, Whose field in the battle the foeman dismayed. When the Mexican hosts in their fury came on, Like a tower of strength in his might he arose, Where danger most threatened his banner was borne, Waving hope to his friends and despair to his foes!