MY OLD DEAR HOME.
“Between broad fields of wheat and corn
Is the lovely home where I was born;
The peach-tree leans against the wall,
And the woodbine wanders over all;
There is the shaded doorway still:
But a stranger’s foot hath crossed the sill!
“There is the barn—and as of yore
I can smell the hay from the open door
And see the busy swallows throng,