At Home

I thought it pleasant when a manly sire     Weary of foreign travel, at the door     Of his own cottage left his dusty staff,     And entering in, sat down with those he loved     Beside the hearth of home; - and pleasant, too,     When a fond mother, absent for a day,     At eve returning, from the sunset hill     That overlooked her cot, descried her boys     Flying with joyous feet along the path     To greet her coming; and, with clasping hands     Of baby welcome, lead her through the gate     Of her sweet home.                                          Pleasant I deemed it, too,     When a young man, a wanderer for years     From those he loved, at length sat down again     With sire and mother in the twilight hour     At home; - and when a gentle daughter, long     From mother's kiss and father's blessing far,     Heard once again their ne'er forgotten tones     Giving her joyous welcome home again,     I felt that life had few such joys as that.     And yet, methought there was - canst tell me why -     Thou, who in Earth alone hast found thy bliss? -     A higher, sweeter, purer joy than those,     When, free from sin and Earth's encumb'ring cares,     A ransomed soul went home to be with Christ.     I knew a man in life's strong; healthful prime -     Aye more, the flush of youth was on his brow,     And all his bounding pulses were astir     With the great joy of work for God, while hope -     Such hope as only Heaven-taught manhood fires     To loftiest ambition - pointed down     The radiant vista of the coming years     To deeds immortal. But the Master called,     And, in mid-race he heard - "Come home, my child!" -     And paused, and listened in surprise and doubt.     "Come home my child!" Then, listening, I heard     The pale lips murmur, while the head was bent     In reverent submission - "Oh, so soon? -     So soon, my Lord? Thou knowest there is much     I fain would do for thee! - thy precious lambs     To gather and to feed - thy sheep to lead     In quiet pastures, and thy name beloved     To herald forth, till Earth's remotest shore     Shall thrill with rapture, and send up to thee     The new-born utterance of love's great joy!"     "Come home, dear child!" - again the Master's voice -     And eagerly he flung his robe aside,     Ungirt his loins, and cast his sandals by;     And while he sweetly sang - "I love the Lord!" -     Entered the peaceful river, and went o'er,     To be forever with the Lord he loved.      -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    - I knew an aged man,     Yet one scarce bent, with fresh, luxuriant hair     So beautifully white, and clear, blue, loving eyes; -     We almost worshipped that most princely man     In his pure, patriarchal beauty. But one day     A whisper came to him. It was so low     We heard it not, nor knew till he was gone -     Gone home! Our sun was set on earth,     Yet risen in Heaven; and through our falling tears     We saw our loved at home, thenceforth to be     Forever with the Lord - Oh, highest bliss -     Forever with his Lord!                                                  Our mother slept     At eve in a poor, earthly home. At dawn     She stood upon the golden shore, a sainted one,     A victor crowned. We wept, as well we might,     When we looked down upon those folded hands     Whose tender touch had often thrilled along     Our baby temples, - those pale, patient hands     That toiled for us what time sweet slumber lay     On our young eyelids, and in sunny dreams     We gathered wild flowers on the hill-side green,     Or chased the butterfly 'mid orchard blooms,     While she, till the night waned, toiled bravely on -     Not for herself, but us, then knelt and prayed     For each young sleeper, ere herself might sleep.     This morn she slept, and every line that grief     Had ever left on her pale, settled face,     And every furrow care had ever traced     Upon her brow had faded in the calm     Of that blest slumber. Did we softly tread,     And hold our breath suspended, in vague fear     Of breaking the sweet spell, or all too soon     Rousing those tired feet to tread again     Their round of daily toil? - or did we check     Our rising grief, lest one o'er-lab'ring sob     From hearts so full, should banish the sweet smile     Which the glad vision of her Lord's dear face     Had left upon her lips? It may be so, -     And yet the hour of weeping was not long;     For, 'mid the light by mortal eyes unpierced,     We caught the gleam of her unsullied robe,     And we rejoiced, beholding her at home!         A little babe, a tiny, broken bud,     A snow-white, breathless lamb lay still and cold     Upon its mother's knees. She did not weep -     She did not pray; but with white, trembling lips     And stony gaze looked down upon her child,     And only moaned in gasping accents - "dead!     My tender babe, my lamb, my own sweet boy! -     Dead, silent, dead!"                                             Then sweet, as borne     O'er silver seas, there came a voice that said,     "Do not their angels evermore behold     My Father's face in Heaven?" - and, swift as thought,     Faith overswept the bounds of space, and caught     A glimpse of her beloved on Jesus' breast     Then tears gushed forth - a precious, healing flood -     And the lips murmured - "Safe, oh, safe at home! -     My bright boy waits at home, thank God, for me!"     Then let us ever when the righteous die     Speak of them joyously as gone before;     Not dead, but sweetly drawn within the veil     To the blest home we're nearing - to the house     Of Christ our Elder Brother, mansion fair,     Prepared and set in order by His hand, -     Their home, and ours to be; forevermore