They ha' not seen the daisies made for the heart's behoof;
They never heard the rain-drops upon a cottage roof;
They do not know the kisses of zephyr an' of breeze;
They never rambled wild an' free beneath the forest trees.
The food that they ha' eaten was spoiled by others' greeds;
The very air their lungs breathed was full o' poison seeds;
The very air their souls breathed was full o' wrong an' spite:
Go set the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!
The fragrant water-lilies ha' never smiled at them;
They never picked a wild-flower from off its dewy stem;
They never saw a greensward that they could safely pass
Unless they heeded well the sign that says "Keep off the grass."
God bless the men and women of noble brain an' heart,
Who go down in the folk-swamps an' take the children's part—
Those hungry, cheery children that keep us in their debt,
An' never fail to give us more of pleasure than they get!
Set well the table, Mary; let naught be scant or small;
The little ones are coming; have plenty for 'em all.
There's nothing we should furnish except the very best
To those that Jesus looked upon an' called to him an' blessed.
[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.]
Oh, Home—restful home! theme of praise and of song!
Where the heart has its refuge, unfailing and strong;
Where the cares of the world sign a partial release,
And the soul can lie down to a sweet sleep of peace!
The mine whence we dig out affection's pure gold,
The fire where we warm our poor hearts when they're cold!
The grand, tender chorus, by love's fingers stirred,
Where all the sweet tones of the soul-life are heard!
But he who in thy praises was sweetest and best—
Who wrote that great song full of soothing and rest—
"Through pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it never so humble, there's no place like home"—
He who, in a moment unfettered by art,
Let that heavenly song fly from the nest of his heart,
He wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
And ne'er till he died had a home of his own!
He wandered the earth at his own dreary will,
And carried his great heavy heart with him still;
He carried his great heavy heart o'er the road,
With no one to give him a lift with his load;
And wherever he went, with his lone, dreary tread,
He found that his sweet song had flown on ahead!
He heard its grand melodies' chimes o'er and o'er,
From great bands that played at the palace's door;
He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,
From fond mothers singing their babies to sleep;
But he wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
And ne'er till in Heaven had a home of his own!