Home-Land
HOME-LAND.
What old man has not in his mournful keeping
The smallest thing that made his life of worth?
He sees a door, a woman bent and weeping,
As toward a grave the young man journeyed forth.
The smallest thing that made his life of worth?
He sees a door, a woman bent and weeping,
As toward a grave the young man journeyed forth.
He recollects each room, though poor and base,
Each window-sill, of myrtle faintly smelling.
How should the heart less fervently embrace
The land that is our home, our earthly dwelling?
Each window-sill, of myrtle faintly smelling.
How should the heart less fervently embrace
The land that is our home, our earthly dwelling?
They stand there yet by lake or lone morass,
Red cottages and manor-halls majestic.
Behind yon frosted panes our sires would pass,
And Yule-tide candles glowed with joy domestic.
Red cottages and manor-halls majestic.
Behind yon frosted panes our sires would pass,
And Yule-tide candles glowed with joy domestic.
This was their vision, this it was that drove
Their hands to build for us, the coming races.
All that which bound them unto life with love
Lives yet in memories round their vacant places.
Their hands to build for us, the coming races.
All that which bound them unto life with love
Lives yet in memories round their vacant places.
By the same hearth, when evening shadows come,
We speak of them, some childish hand caressing.
O thou, our native land, our larger home,
Weave of our lives thy glory and thy blessing!
We speak of them, some childish hand caressing.
O thou, our native land, our larger home,
Weave of our lives thy glory and thy blessing!
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