BY WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER.

    I sit by the open window, And look to the hills away, Over beautiful undulations That glow with the flowers of May； And as the lights and the shadows With the passing moments change, Comes many a scene of beauty Within my vision's range. But there is not one among them That is half so dear to me As an old log cabin I think of, On the banks of the Tennessee.

    Now up from the rolling meadows, And down from the hilltops now, Fresh breezes steal in at my window, And sweetly fan my brow； And the sounds that they gather and bring me. From rivulet¹, meadow, and hill, Come in with a touching² cadence³, And my throbbing⁴ bosom⁵ fill； But the dearest thoughts thus wakened, And in tears brought back to me, Cluster 'round that old log cabin On the banks of the Tennessee.

    To many a fond remembrance My thoughts are backward cast, As I sit by the open window And recall the faded past； For all along the windings⁶ Of the ever moving years Lie wrecks⁷ of hope and of purpose, That I now behold⁸ through tears； And, of all of them, the saddest That is thus brought back to me Makes holy that old log cabin On the banks of the Tennessee.

    Glad voices now greet me daily, Sweet faces I oft behold, Yet I sit by the open window, And dream of the times of old—— Of a voice that on earth is silent, Of a face that is seen no more, Of a spirit that faltered⁹ not ever In the struggles of days now o'er； And a beautiful grave comes pictured For ever and ever to me, From a knoll¹⁰ near that old log cabin On the banks of the Tennessee.