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Show TO IRELAND; Chi Keceipt of a Shamrock From, a Dear Friend. O mother dear. I hold within my hand The fairest treasure known in any land. Thy precious gift this Utile ssnamrock spray That bloom'-d upon thy heart; O motner, .--ay "What sweeter couid'st thou .fnd: These loaves, tho' withered, shall grow srreen .aain. My tears shall bo to them a quickening rain : These tiny roots shall feod within rny heart. And love and tears shall be their daily part Until my Hfe will end. "Cead mile faihe!" from my heart I say. My mother, to thy gif:, my soamrock I, spray ; "Come rack to Erin, child," it answera me. "MwournMn, come, thy mother weep for thee, The trs have dimmed her eyes." 0 motherland! Thou know'st I would give The dearest treasures of rhis earth. t Wv Ban.euth thy sunny skied. 1 thank thee, mother, for this shamrock spray. My soul is roaming o'er Thy Mils today; I thank thee, too, that thou id't c'hoos one dear ' To thine own loving mother heart to bear Thy precious gift to me. X. O. B. in The Pilot. |