 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
249
The two Homes.—Anonymous.
Seest thou my home? 'Tis where yon woods are waving,
In their dark richness, to the sunny air;
Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving,
Leads down the hill a vein of light—'tis there.
In their dark richness, to the sunny air;
Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving,
Leads down the hill a vein of light—'tis there.
'Mid these green haunts how many a spring lies gleaming,
Fringed with the violet, colored by the skies!—
My boyhood's haunts, through days of summer, dreaming,
Under young leaves that shook with melodies.
Fringed with the violet, colored by the skies!—
My boyhood's haunts, through days of summer, dreaming,
Under young leaves that shook with melodies.
My home—the spirit of its love is breathing
In every wind that plays across my track;
From its white walls, the very tendrils, wreathing,
Seem, with soft links, to draw the wanderer back.
In every wind that plays across my track;
From its white walls, the very tendrils, wreathing,
Seem, with soft links, to draw the wanderer back.
There am I loved! There prayed for! There my mother
Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye!
There my young sisters watch to greet their brother—
Soon their glad footsteps down the path would fly!
Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye!
There my young sisters watch to greet their brother—
Soon their glad footsteps down the path would fly!
There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending,
All the home voices meet at day's decline;
One are those tones, as from one heart ascending—
There laughs my home—Sad stranger, where is thine?
All the home voices meet at day's decline;
One are those tones, as from one heart ascending—
There laughs my home—Sad stranger, where is thine?
Ask thou of mine? In solemn peace 'tis lying,
Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away;
'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying,
And fond hearts wait my step. But where are they?
Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away;
'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying,
And fond hearts wait my step. But where are they?
Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling,
Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air;
I know it not, yet trust the whisper telling
My lonely heart, that love unchanged is there.
Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air;
I know it not, yet trust the whisper telling
My lonely heart, that love unchanged is there.
And what is home? and where but with the living?
Happy thou art, and so canst gaze on thine:
My spirit feels, but in its weary roving,
That with the dead—where'er they be—is mine.
Happy thou art, and so canst gaze on thine:
My spirit feels, but in its weary roving,
That with the dead—where'er they be—is mine.
Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother;
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene:
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I will believe—but dark seas roll between.
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene:
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I will believe—but dark seas roll between.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |