The Old Home
The empty hammock, in the grove,
The playful breeze is swinging—
Wild birds, of varied note and plume,
In Babel jargon singing,
Come boldly near my silent door,
And e’en the woodland thrushes
Pour forth for me, their floods of song,
In sweet, melodious gushes.
And nearer still, the squirrels come,
Among the walnuts leaping,
And gather in their winter stores
Without the toil of reaping.—
The tennis plot is overgrown
With long, untrodden grasses—
Above it hangs, from unpruned boughs,
Their foliage wealth in masses.
The lichens lengthen on the trees—
They blotch, with gray, the fences
And prove decadence is of years,
Whatever our pretenses;
The storm-worn roof and gables all
Suggest inceptive mosses—
The ample house, with silent rooms,
Hope’s argosy and losses.
The shrubs that once bore stately bloom
Are now a bushy tangle,
Where tribes of beetles, thro’ the spring,
O’er blighted beauty wrangle;
And goldenrod, with kindly grace,
Hides, with her shining tassels,
Neglected spots, where once was built,
Young Fancy’s airy castles.
The bell, that called the dinner hour
With deep, revibrant clanging,
Is woven round with maple boughs,
Its stranded rope, down-hanging,
Has won a morning-glory bloom
To twine its frayed out fringes,
And trumpet vine creeps o’er the gate
To hide its broken hinges.
Now silence reigns where once was heard
The ring of childish laughter;—
They’ll come no more—“our little boys”—
In all the years hereafter;
Yet winds oft join with listless mood
To cheat me with the seeming—
A dimpled hand tugs at the latch—
But ah! ’twas only dreaming.
They’re out upon the field of Life
Where blades of strength are clashing,
Where true and false contend for aye
With thought’s bright spear-points flashing,
And we must hush love’s hunger-cry
And still the selfish yearning—
Must hide the heart’s fond worship, tho’
Its altar fires are burning.
But mother-love can make her strong
To check her own heart’s throbbing,
And bid them go with steady voice
While self’s in secret, sobbing;
Then she will whisper broken words
Alone with God in prayer,
And find that heavenly blessing falls
For every cross we bear.