p. 1 | GOING HOME

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Oct 8, 1857

GOING HOME.

We said that the days were evil, We felt that they might be few, For low was our fortune's level, And heavy the winters grew; But one who had no possession Looked up to the azure dome, And said in his simple fashion, "Dear friends, we are going home!"

"What need of the changeless story, Which time hath so often told, The sceptre that follows glory, The canker that comes with gold— That wisdom and strength and honor Must fade like the far sea foam, And death is the only winner! But, friends, we are going home!"

"The homes we had hoped to rest in Were opened to sin and strife, The dreams that our youth was blest in Were not for the wear of life; For care can darken the cottage, As well as the palace hearth, And birth-rights are sold for pottage, But never redeemed on earth."

"The springs have gone by in sorrow, The summers were grieved away, And ever we feared to-morrow, And ever we blamed to-day. In depths which the searcher sounded, On hills which the high heart clomb, Have trouble and toil abounded; But, friends, we are going home!"

"Our faith was the bravest builder, But found not a stone of trust; Our love was the fairest girder, But lavished its wealth on dust; And time hath the fabric shaken, And fortune the clay hath shown, For much they have changed and taken, But nothing that was our own."

"The light that to us made baser The path that so many choose, The gifts which we found no place for, The riches we could not use; The heart that when life was wintry Found summer in strain and tone, With these to our kin and country, Dear friends, we are going home!"

[London Athenæum.]