 | Benoni |  |
29
HOME.
‘Say what the wisest, worthiest prayer
That buoys its wings with earthward air?’
She looked up thro' her drooping hair—
‘Pray for a home!
That buoys its wings with earthward air?’
She looked up thro' her drooping hair—
‘Pray for a home!
‘More sweet than song of moonlight bird,
Or sea-born sounds at sunset heard,
The music of that little word—
The one word, Home!
Or sea-born sounds at sunset heard,
The music of that little word—
The one word, Home!
‘On scatter'd lakes, where'er she move,
The sweet somnambulist above
For all her looks and thoughts of love
Still finds a home:
The sweet somnambulist above
For all her looks and thoughts of love
Still finds a home:
‘If thus some shining word there be
Which in all heavenward hearts and free
A mirror of itself may see,
That word is Home.
Which in all heavenward hearts and free
A mirror of itself may see,
That word is Home.
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‘For always under bluest skies,
Tho' half a heaven about us lies,
The full heart whispers to the eyes,
“This is not Home!”’
Tho' half a heaven about us lies,
The full heart whispers to the eyes,
“This is not Home!”’
Ah, then, if spot so calm and sweet
Make rest on earth for wearied feet,
Say whither lies that blest retreat—
Say, what is Home?
Make rest on earth for wearied feet,
Say whither lies that blest retreat—
Say, what is Home?
‘'Twere hard,’ she said, ‘for human kind—
For each, tho' shapelessly and blind,
Spontaneous in his untaught mind
Knows what is Home;
For each, tho' shapelessly and blind,
Spontaneous in his untaught mind
Knows what is Home;
‘And Feeling rules the human sky,
Nor cares to scan with curious eye
The cheering light she feels so nigh—
The light of Home.
Nor cares to scan with curious eye
The cheering light she feels so nigh—
The light of Home.
‘Each spirit hath a depthless mine
Of buried gems and flowers divine,
That in their own sweet lustre shrine
Its thoughts of Home;
Of buried gems and flowers divine,
That in their own sweet lustre shrine
Its thoughts of Home;
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‘Each minds him of some sheltering trees,
Some homestead, deep in billowy leas
Or cheerful haunts of men; and these
To him are Home:
Some homestead, deep in billowy leas
Or cheerful haunts of men; and these
To him are Home:
‘Yet such things, tho' in close embrace
They blend each meek attendant grace
With the one thought that fills the place—
The thought of Home;
They blend each meek attendant grace
With the one thought that fills the place—
The thought of Home;
‘Yet are they but as tangled flowers,
Tended and twined in happiest hours,
That smother with their scented showers
The truth of Home:
Tended and twined in happiest hours,
That smother with their scented showers
The truth of Home:
‘They are but moons that wax and wane,
And scarcely move the boundless main
Of hallow'd memories that remain
In that word Home.
And scarcely move the boundless main
Of hallow'd memories that remain
In that word Home.
‘No—wheresoe'er beneath the blue
Some brood of kindred hearts and true
Dwell shelter'd where the stranger's view
May never come,
Some brood of kindred hearts and true
Dwell shelter'd where the stranger's view
May never come,
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‘And, folded thus, together feel
Each varying breath of woe or weal—
Together smile, together kneel,
In joy, in gloom;
Each varying breath of woe or weal—
Together smile, together kneel,
In joy, in gloom;
‘While as they weep, or as they sing,
Slow thro' the Autumn from the Spring
They downward slope on calmest wing
Toward the tomb;
Slow thro' the Autumn from the Spring
They downward slope on calmest wing
Toward the tomb;
‘Whether in cedar they abide,
Or cottage by the green hill-side,
Or thro' the barren world and wide
For ever roam;
Or cottage by the green hill-side,
Or thro' the barren world and wide
For ever roam;
‘Where'er they stray, where'er they dwell,
A wandering heaven is with them still;
And tenderest angels, watching, tell
That this is Home.’
A wandering heaven is with them still;
And tenderest angels, watching, tell
That this is Home.’
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