We are all exiles
from "The Beaufort Exile's Lament"
Your noble sons slain, on the battle-field lie,
Your daughters' mid strangers now roam;
Your aged and helpless in poverty sigh
O'er the days when they once had a home.
"Going home! going home!" for the exile alone
Can those words sweep the chords of the soul,
And raise from the grave the loved ones who are gone,
As the tide-waves of time backward roll.
"Going home! going home!" Ah! how many who pine,
Dear Beaufort, to press thy green sod,
Ere then will have passed to shores brighter than thine--
Will have gone home at last to their God!