The Old House at Home.

The Old House at Home.
349.5

Oh, the old house at home,
where my forefathers dwelt,
Where a child at the feet of my mother I knelt;
Whero she taught me the prayer, where she read
me the page Which it infancy llans is the solace of age
Oh, oft midst life’s changes, whenever I roam.
My thoughts will fly back to the old house at home.

It was not for its splendor that the dwelling was dear,
It was not that the gay and the nobls were there:
Round its porch the wild rose and the woodbine entwined
And the sweet scented Jasmine waved in the wind.
But dearer to me that proud turret or dome Is the hall of my fathers, the old house at home,
But now the old house is no dwelling for me:
The home of the stranger henceforth it must be:
And nowhere shall I view it as (save as a guest).
Roam the ever green Belds that my father possessed:
But oft in my slumber sweet visions will come Of the days that are past and the old house at home.