The Old Kitchen Floor.

The Old Kitchen Floor.
330.8

Far back in my musings my thoughts have been cast,
To the spot where the hours of my childhood wero passed.
I loved ali its rooms, to the pantry and hall,
But that blessed old kitchen was dearer than all.
Its chairs and its tables none brighter could be,
-For all its surroundings were sacred to me.
To the nall in the ceiling, to the latch on the door,
Yes, I loved every crack in that old kitchen ficor.

I remember the fireplace, with mouth high and wide,
And the old fashioned oven that stood by its side.
Out of which euch Thanksgiving came pudding and ples
Which fairly bewildered and dazzled our eyes.
And then old St. Nicholas slyly and sti
Came down every Christmas our ou stockings to fill.
But dearest of memories lald up in store
Are dear mother of thee on that old kitchen floor.

Day in and day out, and from morning till night.
Her footsteps were busy, her heart always light,
For it seemed to me then that she had not a care,
The smiles were so gentle her face used to wear.
I remember with pleasure what joy filled our cur
As around her we gathered strange stories to hear:
They were now every night though we’d heard them before
From her lips at the wheel on that old kitchen floor.

Tonight those old visions come back at their will,
But the wheel and its music forever are still,
The hand is moth eaten, the wheel laid away,
And the fingers that turned it He moldering in clay.
The hearthstone so sacred is just as ’twas then.
The volces of children ring out there again.
The sun through the window looks in as of yore.
But it sees other feet on the old kitchen floor.

I ask not for treasures, but this I do crave.
That when the lips speaking are closed in the grave
My children will gather theirs round at their side
And tell of the mother that long ago died.
Twould be more enduring, far dearer to me.
Than Inscriptions on marble or granite could be.
To have them toll often as I did of yore.
Of the mother they loved on that old kitchen floor.