 | Poems |  |
189
England's Pure Homes.
‘The unclean worm hath eaten to the core,And killed the bud of Purity's white flower:’
So spake the scorner, presaging the hour
When England's sweet home life would be no more.
Yet many a home there lies in memory's store,—
The rustic cot, the hall of ample dower,—
Where no unholy thing dare lurk and cower,
And lily-graces all their fragrance pour.
Ah, happy homes! where chivalry disdains
To wrong the weak, and manly strength is pure,
And womanhood, made rich with freedom's gains,
On mercy's gracious errands walks secure!
Bright gardens, where God's fairest flowers are set,
The sunlight of His smile is on you yet!
(1885.)
| Poems | |