I hear the bells, the village bells, at ev'ning from the kirk; I see the men from hills and dells come walking home from work; I see the lights, the little lights, that kindle one by one -- A hundred sounds, a hundred sights, declare the day is done. Now red the little kitchen fires that blink through open doors To welcome home returning sires, like signals on the shores -- A pillow in the easy chair, the little table spread, And just a glimpse from over there of quiet room and bed. O men concerned with theories, who plan the nation's weal, Such simple sights and sounds as these the answer may reveal -- The nation's hope is in the hearth, and not in marts of trade, And all is well upon the earth at night when supper's laid. The home, and hearth, and suppertime -- you need no more to plan To make a government sublime to serve the rights of man. When honest men from honest toil come home to homes their own Then Freedom finds the fertile soil where Liberty is sown. |