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319
THE LONELY HOME.
There's none to say “good night” to me—
No friend my little fire to share;
The old hoarse clock ticks drearily,
And makes the silence worse to bear.
Gone! all are gone!—the fondest, best,
And loveliest that I call'd mine own:
After brief suffering they're at rest;
They—they lived not to wail alone!
No friend my little fire to share;
The old hoarse clock ticks drearily,
And makes the silence worse to bear.
Gone! all are gone!—the fondest, best,
And loveliest that I call'd mine own:
After brief suffering they're at rest;
They—they lived not to wail alone!
Alone, alone—morn, noon, and eve
I see the cold chairs keep their place;
I watch the dusty spider weave,
Where once there shone a household grace.
The brightness of my home is dull—
The busy faces all are gone;
I gaze—and oh! my heart is full—
My aching heart, that breaks alone!
I see the cold chairs keep their place;
I watch the dusty spider weave,
Where once there shone a household grace.
The brightness of my home is dull—
The busy faces all are gone;
I gaze—and oh! my heart is full—
My aching heart, that breaks alone!
320
I ope the Bible, gray with age—
The same my hapless grandsire read;
But tears stain fast and deep that page
Which keeps their names—my loved—my dead!
The wandering stranger by my door—
The passing tread—the distant tone—
All human sounds but deepen more
The feeling I am lone—alone!
The same my hapless grandsire read;
But tears stain fast and deep that page
Which keeps their names—my loved—my dead!
The wandering stranger by my door—
The passing tread—the distant tone—
All human sounds but deepen more
The feeling I am lone—alone!
My cot with mantling ivy green,
Its pleasant porch, its sanded floor—
Ah! Time's dread touch hath changed the scene,
What was, alas! is now no more!
The key hath rusted in the lock,
So long since I the threshold cross'd:
Why should I see the sun but mock
The blessed light my home hath lost?
Its pleasant porch, its sanded floor—
Ah! Time's dread touch hath changed the scene,
What was, alas! is now no more!
The key hath rusted in the lock,
So long since I the threshold cross'd:
Why should I see the sun but mock
The blessed light my home hath lost?
Oh! would my last low bed were made!
But Death forsakes the lone and old;
Seeks the blithe cheek of youth to fade,
To crush the gay, the strong, the bold.
Yet sometimes through the long dull night,
When hours find supernatural tone,
I hear a promise of delight:
Thou, God! Thou leav'st me not alone.
But Death forsakes the lone and old;
Seeks the blithe cheek of youth to fade,
To crush the gay, the strong, the bold.
Yet sometimes through the long dull night,
When hours find supernatural tone,
I hear a promise of delight:
Thou, God! Thou leav'st me not alone.
321
The wintry rain fell dull and deep,
As slow a coffin pass'd the road;
No mourner there was seen to weep—
No follower to that last abode!
Yet there a broken heart found peace—
The peace that but in death it knew!
Alas! that human loves increase
Our human woes and miseries too!
As slow a coffin pass'd the road;
No mourner there was seen to weep—
No follower to that last abode!
Yet there a broken heart found peace—
The peace that but in death it knew!
Alas! that human loves increase
Our human woes and miseries too!
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