Poems of the Heart and Home

by Mrs. J. C. Yule

Come home!—the vine that climbs our cottage eaves,
Hath a low murmur 'mid its glossy leaves
When the south wind sweeps by, that seems to be
Too deeply laden with sad thoughts of thee—
Of thee, our absent one!—
The roses blossom, and their beauties die,
And the sweet violet opes its pensive eye
By thee unseen; and from the old, beech tree
Thy robin pours his song unheard by thee,
Dally at set of sun!

Dearest, come home! Thy harp neglected lies,
Breathing no more its wonted melodies;
Thy favourite books, unopened, in their case,
Just as thy hands arranged them, keep their place,
And vacant is thy seat
Beside the hearth. At the still hour of prayer
Thou com'st no more with quiet, reverent air;
And when, around the social board, each face
Brings its warm welcome, there's one vacant place—
One smile we may not meet.

Come home!—thy home was never wont to be
A place where clouds might rest; yet, wanting thee,
All pleasant scenes have dull and tasteless grown,
And shadows lower-shadows, erewhile unknown
Of ever-deepening gloom.
The halls where erst thy happy childhood played,
The pleasant garden by thy fair hands made,
The bower thy sunny presence made so fair,
Are all unchanged,—yet grief is everywhere;—
Dear one, come home!

Come home?—come home?—alas, what have I said?
Beyond the stars, beloved, thy feet have sped!
No more to press these garden paths with mine,
Or walk beside my own at day's decline—
No more—no more to come
To these old summer haunts! But I shall stay
A little while; and then, at fall of day,
I, too, like thee, shall sleep, and wake to see
Thy Lord and mine, and so shall ever be
With Him and thee at home!

BE IN EARNEST

Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
Life is not the summer, dream
Of the careless, child that gathers
Daisies in the noontide beam!
It hath conflict, it hath danger,
It hath sorrow, toil, and strife;
Yet the weak alone will falter
In the battle-field of life.

There are burdens you may lighten,
Toiling, struggling ones may cheer,
Tear-dimmed eyes that you may brighten,
Thorny paths that you may clear;—
Erring ones, despised, neglected,
You may lead to duty back,—
Beacon-lights to be erected,
All along life's crowded track.

There are wrongs that must be righted,
Sacred rights to be sustained,
Truths, though trampled long and slighted,
'Mid the strife to be maintained;—
Heavy, brooding mists to scatter—
Mists of ignorance and sin,—
Walls of adamant to shatter,
Thus to let God's sunlight in.

Boundless is the field and fertile,
Let the ploughshare deep be driven;
So, at length, the plenteous harvest
Shall look smiling up to heaven!
Sow the seed at early morning,
Nor at evening stay thy hand;
Precious fruits, the earth adorning,
Shall at length around thee stand

Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
Life is not the summer-dream
Of the careless child that gathers
Daisies in the noontide beam!
Life hath conflict, toil, and danger,—
It hath sorrow, pain, and strife,—
Yet the weak alone will falter
In the battle-field of life!