The Widow's Home

Alas, my home is lonely,-- They've parted from my side; My husband in the church yard's laid, My daughter is a bride. She's stood beside the altar, And breath'd that solemn vow, From which she may not falter, Till life is ended now. But, oh, my home is lonely,-- I miss them by the hearth; When evening shadows gather 'round, I miss their social mirth. I miss the glances of the eye, The old familiar tone,-- And feel indeed, the widow's home Is desolate and lone. And when we gather round the board, There's each one's vacant chair; And, oh, I miss them every hour-- And miss them everywhere. But still there must be changes, While time is stealing by, Alternate sun and shadow Will flit across the sky.