The “Old” Homestead

                      I.

O, I long once more for a passing glimpse

     Of the dear old homestead rare.

Where my father toiled so many long years,

     With many a load of care.

Where mother, dear soul, the weary days through

     Stood valiantly by his side;

With never a sigh or a tear-dimmed eye,

     Till the very last hour she died.

                   Chorus

O, those were the hearts and those were the days

     When life was pure and complete;

And those were the scenes which memory screens,

     And never grow aught but sweet.

And I love to think of the old well sweep,

     Of the hands that pulled it down;

Of the untold charm, of the dear old farm,

     And the old house bare and brown.

                       II.

O, I long to tread on that hallowed ground,

     Where they tread so long ago;

And to see the brook with its leap and dash,

     And the sights I used to know.

I’ve been a wanderer, ah! too long,

     Now the old scenes come to view;

The old homestead dear with its air of cheer,

     And the pleasures I once well knew.

                                                Chorus

Copyright

1894

Sept. 5, ‘94

Pub. in

B. Courier,

Nov. 18, ‘94