# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1678/The House Beautiful

From Macmillan's Magazine.
THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL.
* "I think the house beautiful; it is so full of remembrances."
* "The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good,
* The slow, sad hours that bring us all things ill,
* And all good things from evil." — Tennyson.
* I am sitting beside my nursery fire,
* Watching my children at play,
* And my thoughts go back to the long long years
* Whose record is — passed away.
* Yes, passed away is the echo I hear,
* As I sit within this room,
* And think of the lives of those loved ones dear
* Who first made the house a home.
* I see myself still, a little child,
* Its walls unfinished and bare,
* When brought on our queen's coronation-day,
* The festive gladness to share.
* Three years passed away, and the old man died,
* Two households we were before:
* Now we gathered all round this one fireside
* Thirty years ago, and more.
* And now, by these very same windows bright
* My children are standing to-day,
* Looking out on the green grass, the clouds so light,
* The blue heaven that is far away.
* Far away, but to their child-thought quite near,
* For one has just entered there,
* Who had told them God would soon call her home
* To his heaven so bright and fair.
* They were told God's call had come in the night,
* "I did not hear him, mamma,"
* "I can see no hole in the clouds all white,
* Oh! how did she go, mamma?"
* Ah! how do they go? There is answer none,
* Be the last watch long or short,
* As love holds each look of the dying one
* In tender questioning thought.
* It came all too soon, that first sad watch,
* In the days of spring-time sweet,
* He had come home to die, but dying found
* The life in Him complete.
* Deep sorrow, yet gladness, was ours that day,
* When, gathered around his bed,
* The Name humbly confessed as there he lay,
* We shared in the broken bread.
* Father, sister and friend and aunt were there,
* And she who had loved so well,
* With him through whose life it was holy joy
* The glad news of hope to tell.
* 'Twas sudden and short on that winter day,
* When death's vale by him was trod —
* No time to think, no farewell could we say:
* Father and son were with God.
* Peaceful and calm did the aged one lie,
* The corn sheaves for garnering drest;
* "Yes, to live is Christ, but it's gain to die,"
* And she entered into rest.
* The watch was not sad, we could scarcely weep
* Through those days of the new-born year,
* She seemed like a tired child fallen asleep,
* But the waking was not here.
* She had wandered back to the summer days
* And up to the golden gate;
* On her lips were words of prayer and praise,
* And we could but watch and wait.
* And others have crossed to the further shore,
* Though not from the old rooftree;
* Kind hands closed his eyes, though no kith or kin,
* Whose grave is beside the sea,
* Where they laid him, though all too late they went
* To see that gentle life close,
* While with sound of funeral the marriage-bell blent —
* So mingle life's joys and woes.
* One passed, too, for long happy years a wife,
* Who left us a blooming bride,
* She quietly laid down the burden of life,
* Fair children grown up by her side.
* She had looked for new life with summer's warm breath,
* Alas! she waited in vain,
* The new life was hers, but of heaven, not of earth,
* His mother meets Willie again.
* I am sitting beside my nursery fire,
* Watching my children at play,
* And my thoughts go back to the long long years
* Whose record is passed away.
* They are passed away, but memory still
* Calls those faces round me yet;
* I hear their voices, am one in their midst,
* An unbroken household met.
* Ah, me! 'twas a home where goodness, and worth
* Found ever a welcome meet,
* And none would go, but they fain would renew
* The happy memory sweet.
* For a Christian life breathed its power around,
* Nothing mean could entrance find,
* Loving counsel and help alike were given,
* Ever courteous, liberal, kind.
* Each day brought to each its appointed task:
* But the happy social time
* Was when over the open book they talked
* Of its prose or poet's rhyme;
* Or discussion grew strong, deep truths were weighed,
* Thought, satire, flashed out by turn;
* Or in other moods these aside were laid,
* Love's sweeter lesson to learn.
* And music and song would the hours beguile
* When the evening guests were there,
* While the eager talk and the answering smile
* Lighted up those faces fair.
* But these dumb old walls give no echo back,
* They have kept their secrets well,
* Fond words have they heard while glad tears were shed,
* But never a one they tell.
* But there lingers about them a hallowing charm,
* And I feel them dearer now,
* As, folding my children within my arm,
* And kissing each fair white brow,
* I think of the time when I stood by your side,
* To begin my life anew,
* And we whispered low, till death do us part
* We will be to each other true.
* And through the seven years that have passed since then
* Our life has been richly blessed,
* While our home was hers — 'twas as if we had
* Entertained an angel guest.
* And what glad hearts were ours when first to my breast
* I folded our baby girl,
* Then another came, little Sunbeam bright,
* Laughing eye and flaxen curl.
* And yet once again we gave thanks, when he,
* "Little brother," came to share
* Our fond love, we forecasting the years to be,
* As he lay cradled there.
* And the dear old home is now ours alone!
* As a trust it comes to me,
* Yes, a sacred trust from those who are gone,
* Ah! what shall our record be?
* As sitting beside my nursery fire,
* Watching my children at play,
* I ask, will they feel it a holy place,
* When we, too, have passed away?