Haunt of my childhood, I can ne'er forget
Those pleasant hours of yore,
When free from care, and with a bounding step,
I trod that sandy shore.

There have I gambolled oft in childhood's glee,
Climbing each sandy hill,
Gathering fair shells and wave-worn pebbles bright,
Watching each snowy sail.

I ever loved in Nature's book to trace
The proof of love divine,
And oft, as on illuminated page,
See truest wisdom shine.

And there I saw, in pebble and in shell,
In wave and fish and weed,
Those tokens of God's presence which I crave
To meet my spirit's need.

Nor only on the sandy shore I found
Enjoyment pure and sweet,
But gladly up the far-seen beacon tower
Went oft my youthful feet.

And there, with trap-door closed, I read,
From human ears afar,
The wondrous words of Avon's bard, and those
Which traced Childe Harold's star.

Round the great lantern swept the ocean blast,
My childish voice to drown;
Far off before me stretched the mighty deep;
Behind, my native town.

Gone is that lighthouse now, its inmates gone:
A fairer structure stands,
To guide the mariner in safety o'er
Those shifting, dangerous sands.

And scattered are the friends who with me there
Knew many a happy day;
Some, from that isle to heaven's serener shore,
Forever passed away.

But in my heart the memories remain
Of that sweet, olden time;
So, grateful, I, within a far-off home,
Embalm Brant Point in rhyme.

Content, if some who oft have wandered there
With me in days agone
Shall read these lines with loving thought of one
Who, absent, yet loves on;

And, though Nantucket's star may seem to set,
Thanks God for what has been
In days of yore, whose visions linger yet,
Robed in affection's sheen.