OUR CHILDHOOD'S HOME by ANONYMOUS

THERE is one spot on all the earth,
Where'er in after life we rove,
To which the heart will ever turn
With an unchanging, deathless love.
Seas may perchance roll far between,
To distant lands the feet may roam,
But memory turns with yearning back
To it, our loved, our childhood's home.

Our childhood's home -- who can forget
The many happy, happy years
Spent there when all the world seemed bright,
And all unknown were cares and tears?
The morning sun beamed brightly down
On tranquil brows, and never care
Had traced a line, nor sorrow stamped
Its desolating impress there.

But swiftly flew the summer hours
With laugh and jest and guileless song,
And in a pathway strewed with flowers
We sped our happy way along;
We revelled in a sea of love, --
A perfect Eden of delight;
And years flew on and brought no change,
For all was pure and all was bright.

How different now! No more we see
The pleasant home we loved so well;
No more we hear in silvery tones
The simple song of evening swell.
We miss the father's kind caress,
The mother's kiss and accents mild;
The sister's smile, the brother's clasp, --
All that was valued when a child.

What have we gained in lieu of these?
We sought for wealth, perchance a name;
But what is wealth compared with love,
And who can climb the steep of Fame?
With weary heart and throbbing brow,
And mind with many cares oppressed,
Night after night we seek our couch,
And "sink to sleep but not to rest."

And still through all the busy strife,
Through all the cares and maddening fears
Of life, the heart will wander back
To those beloved and happy years;
And we shall say, in all the earth,
No matter where the feet may roam,
We may not find the stainless truth
That blessed our childhood's happy home.

Friendship is but a hollow mask,
Ambition but an empty name,
And disappointment waits on him
Who follows in pursuit of fame.
And then at last we drop and fade
Like autumn leaves, and fall and die,
With no kind hand to raise the head,
And gently close the dying eye.

Followed by strangers to the grave,
Few our departure to deplore,
The clay falls coldly on the breast,
The mound is raised, and all is o'er!
And yet not all; for in that land
Where tears and trials never come,
Thank God! we yet may join the band
Who shared with us our childhood's home.

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