p Q E r RY..

From the Boston Olive Branch.
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{"character_count": 1405, "word_count": 260, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9563000202178955], "ccnet_perplexity": [1940.800048828125], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
MY HOME.
In the dear old cottage where was born,
That stood meath the wide spreading trees,
Where passed the hours Of life's young morn,
Oh--therc is no home for me. 81"
They have razed the foundation, firm and bold,
Of the cottage that stood meath the trees
And within its wa Is so loved, so old,


Is no longer home for me. 'a ."'@#
l loved tile ancient architravc


Of the cottage that stood meath the trees,
loved its clumsy cornices, 9@
Its rich old fashioned frieze.
loved the sun and the shadness,


Of the cottage that stood meath the trees,
And the birds who, in glad happiness, nj
There warbed their summer glees.
/ loved the dear ones that found,


In the cottage that stood meath the trees;
had brothers there and sisters kind,


And happy and blithe were we.
My dear old father there was born, .e..
In the cottage that stood meath the trees
There he pass'd the hours of his sunny morn,
And in prayer he there bent his knees
Twas there my gentle mother died,
In the cottage that stood meath the trees,
When the sunbeams paled at even tide
She left us alone ogrieve.
/ know there's aaNansion that ne'er decays
Like the cottage that stood meath the trees,
And there dwell host in shining array,
Who are wash'd from their sins, and are free
And tho have never a home again


Like the cottage that stood meath the trees,
I'll seek, and pray admittance to gain
In heaven---theres room there for me.