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Songs of A Worker

By Arthur O'Shaughnessy

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54

IN THE OLD HOUSE.

In the old house where we dwelt
No care had come, no grief we knew,
No memory of the Past we felt,
No doubt assailed us when we knelt;
It is not so in the new.
In the old house where we grew
From childhood up, the days were dreams,
The summers had unwonted gleams,
The sun a warmer radiance threw
Upon the stair. Alas! it seems
All different in the new!
Our mother still could sing the strain
In earlier days we listened to;

55

The white threads in her hair were few,
She seldom sighed or suffered pain.
Oh for the old house back again!
It is not so in the new.