The Old Home.

The empty hammock, in the grove, The playful breeze is swinging— Wild birds, of varied note and plume, In Babel jargon singing, Come boldly near my silent door, And e’en the woodland thrushes Pour forth for me, their floods of song, In sweet, melodious gushes. And nearer still, the squirrels come, Among the walnuts leaping, And gather in their winter stores Without the toil of reaping.— The tennis plot is overgrown With long, untrodden grasses— Above it hangs, from unpruned boughs, Their foliage wealth in masses. The lichens lengthen on the trees— They blotch, with gray, the fences And prove decadence is of years, Whatever our pretenses; The storm-worn roof and gables all Suggest inceptive mosses— The ample house, with silent rooms, Hope’s argosy and losses. The shrubs that once bore stately bloom Are now a bushy tangle, Where tribes of beetles, thro’ the spring, O’er blighted beauty wrangle; And goldenrod, with kindly grace, Hides, with her shining tassels, Neglected spots, where once was built, Young Fancy’s airy castles. The bell, that called the dinner hour With deep, revibrant clanging, Is woven round with maple boughs, Its stranded rope, down-hanging, Has won a morning-glory bloom To twine its frayed out fringes, And trumpet vine creeps o’er the gate To hide its broken hinges. Now silence reigns where once was heard The ring of childish laughter;— They’ll come no more—“our little boys”— In all the years hereafter; Yet winds oft join with listless mood To cheat me with the seeming— A dimpled hand tugs at the latch— But ah! ’twas only dreaming. They’re out upon the field of Life Where blades of strength are clashing, Where true and false contend for aye With thought’s bright spear-points flashing, And we must hush love’s hunger-cry And still the selfish yearning— Must hide the heart’s fond worship, tho’ Its altar fires are burning. But mother-love can make her strong To check her own heart’s throbbing, And bid them go with steady voice While self’s in secret, sobbing; Then she will whisper broken words Alone with God in prayer, And find that heavenly blessing falls For every cross we bear.