THE OLD HOUSE AT HOME.
I
Oh! the old house at home where my forefathers dwelt,
Where a child at the feet of my mother I knelt,
Where she taught me the pray'r, where she read me the page,
Which, if infancy lisps, is the solace of age;
My heart, 'mid all changes, wherever I roam,
Ne'er loses its love for the old house at home!
II
Twas not for its splendour, that dwelling was dear!
'Twas not that the gay or the noble were near;
O'er the porch the wild rose and woodbine entwin'd,
And the sweet scented jessamine wav'd in the wind;
Yet dearer to me than proud turret or dome
Were the halls of my fathers, the old house at home!
III
But now the old house is no dwelling for me,
The home of the stranger henceforth it shall be;
And ne'er will I view it, nor rove as a guest,
O'er the ever green fields which my father possessed;
Yet still, in my slumbers, sweet visions will come
Of the days that are pass'd, and the old house at home!
