Poems (Clark)/Grandma's Home

by Annie Maria Lawrence Clark

GRANDMA'S HOME

I went last night to my grandma's,
 To the old house under the hill,
Where the past has hung fair pictures
 And sweet memories come at will.
The sunset's crimson curtains
 Were looped with bands of gold,
Just touching the far blue mountain
 With many a radiant fold.

I sat in the dear old kitchen,
 And saw through memory's glass
Much that the chances and changes
 Of the long-ago brought to pass.
Once more I saw the broad settle,
 And the hearth-fire's cheerful blaze,
And the clock that ticked in the corner
 The fleeting of so many days.

And out from his bed by the fireside
 Peeped "Porter's" kindly face,
And "Peter," through half shut eyelids,
 Watched the squirrels running a race.
I could hear the creak of the well-sweep,
 And the bucket's splash in the well,
The dove's low coo in the barn-loft,
 And the geese in the meadow dell.

With grandpa's pipe on the mantel
 Stood the row of candlesticks tall;
And grandpa's chest by the west-room door,
 And grandma's wheel 'gainst the wall.
Out through the open window,
 I gazed on the rock-crowned hill;
That is just the same, but its charm is gone
 Since Charlie's dear feet have been still.

Once again I seemed to listen
 As in pleasant by-gone days,
When grandpa called us round him,
 To join in prayer and praise.
Ah, me! the band has been broken
 Dear grandpa lives in heaven;
And grandma's head has a snowy crown,
 The glory by old age given.

Time's touch has brought many changes,
 But I love to keep in my heart,
These sweet but homely pictures
 Of my childhood's life a part.
There are many prouder homesteads,
 But love gives a worth untold;
And the old home's heart-kept beauties
 Could not be purchased with gold.