LATE HOME.
Mother, I come! Long have thine arms, outspread
In mercy and maternal majesty,
Been waiting to receive me. Long have I
Heard thy low, summoning voice in wistful dread:
A truant child, who yearned, yet feared, to tread
The threshold of its home, while still on high
Blazed the broad sun within the noonday sky;
But, when the shadows of the evening came,
And darkness fell, was fain to seek the flame
Of its own hearthstone and its mother dear,
And meet her greeting, loving, if severe,
Her frown, which could not hide the secret tear,
Her gaze compassionate, though sad and stern,
Her fond forgiveness of that late return.