The old home and the spur;
But stranger this—the only change
Was wrought in us and her.
The lamp-light kissed her faded chair,
Where, ere the sands had run,
The sheen still on her raven hair,
She’d nursed us one by one.
Oh, vain the word that each could tell
With full heart brimming o’er,
That we, who ever loved her well,