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WHEN THE CHILDREN COME HOME

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Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 3, 1901

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 78, No. 49.

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WHEN THE CHILDREN COME HOME.

By S. Frances Gilbreath-Ingersoll

S. FRANCES GILBREATH-INGERSOLL.
(Middlefield, Ohio.)
She sits in the twilight, dreaming,— Wrinkled, and old, and gray,— And the shadows upon the hearthstone Are those of a by-gone day.
The years are dropped as a garment; And down through memory's hall She hears the patter of footsteps, And voices of children call.
Brave Martin, the brown-haired laddie; Sweet May, like a springtime bloom; Wee Daisy, with heart full of sunshine, Are all in the little room.
A tiny white stone in the churchyard Reads, “Benny—a year and a day.” But he nestles to-night in her bosom, And watches the children play.
The pathway of life has been rugged; Oft bruised were the patient feet; And now, near the end of her journey, She comes where the two ways meet.
Though hers trends down to the “valley,” And theirs to the mountain height, She heeds neither chill nor “shadow” As she dreams they are here to-night.
There's a smile on the lips so silent; The hands are folded in rest; The heart, with its unfilled longing, Lies silent within her breast.
In the sleep that knows no waking Till the Lord in His glory shall come, She waits the glad dawn of the morning, When the children shall all come home.