html website builder

I love to think of the dear old home--
For my thoughts keep lingering there--
And to think of the haunts where I used to roam
With a heart unknown to care.


And I love to think of the days long gone,
And the friends of my early youth,
Who taught me to trust in the Holy One,
And to walk in the ways of truth.


And I think of the flowery-selvedged lanes,
Where I ran in my childish glee--
And I sportively roam o'er the verdant plains,
And I climb the old ash tree.


And I visit again in my waking dreams
The old familiar spring,
And the grassy slopes by the crystal streams,
And the grove where the warblers sing.


And I join my brothers and cousins at play,
With our hoops, tops, balls and kites,
And time too rapidly glides away,
Curtailing our loved delights.


And we cheerfully go to the village school,
And again pore over our books,
And we reckon our sums by the same old rule,
And--we watch the master's looks.


And I think of the days of healthy toil
And pure industrial mirth,
When I covered the seeds in the fertile soil,
Or gathered the fruits of the earth.


And I sigh while I think of that joyless day
When I left the dear old home,
And lonely and tearfully came away
Thro' this cold, vain world to roam.


And I oft survey in my pensive thought
The graves of my kindred dead,
And I sigh while I gaze on that hallowed spot,
And a tear to their memory shed.


And I hopefully think of the joys to come,
When my heart shall no more be riven--
When I'll meet the beloved of my childhood's home
In our Father's house in heaven.