The Republican journal., 1905-07-27
rHr OLD HOME.

Tread before the Denver New England Society
December, 1885, ,
Dear IL this noble land we call our own,
NO isire, does the sun look down low, upon n.
A. the old earth, turning to meet ms rays,
Warns her cold shoulders Ia the cheerful blaze
Who're California's vines and orchards lie
where miser I mcnntains Weld their treasure old
Or where the prairie's broad and fertile plain
Where Pennsylyania stores the warmth and light
VI byg0ne ages in her anthracite.
Or the warm South generous harvest yields
North. South or West, We mark on every hand
The peace and plenty of our smiling land.
We love 1t all; yet In our hearts we hide
One corner dearer than all else beside.
Brothers and sisters. eastward let us roam
In thought tonight, and talk awhile OF home.
Our childhood's home. Perhaps the welcome
thought
A different picture to each mind has brought.
When autumn splendor all the landscape fills;
When, borrowing the ancient psalmist's word.
THE trees Of the wood rejoice before the Lord"
The blue Connecticut flows down between,
And the Green Mountains frame the lovely scene.
Another sees old Boston's busiest street;
Its narrow sidewalk filed with hurrying feet,
Where the policeman like Moses stands
Staying the tide with his uplifted hands.
While busy shoppers passing to and fro
Upon their errands safely come and 60.
Or Park Street Church, standing with feet of
Holds birthstone Corner for its very own.
Close by Its side there lie the stored dead,
Long ere its time laid in the narrow bed.
Their eloer brothers farther up the street
Again the message "dust to dust" repeat.
Needless of them their eager children strive
To crowd within the street cars teeming hive,
And wend their way by harnessed lightning's aid
To homes their fathers knew as forest shade
vision fair the words have brought to me;
A "dear old town that's seated by the sea-
quaint, grassy bordered village street
Ger which the drOOninp elm trees bend and
meet.
l tread the narrow wooden walk once more;
enter at each once familiar door;
hear the words of welcome they would speak
And press kiss many well known cheek;
see de ar faces framed in locks of white
should rot see if were there tonight.
An old brown house before me stands once more,
With lilac bushes growing by the door;
Along narrow footpath as Ipass,
brush against bunch of striped grass.
Four plum trees, under which used to play,
An old board fence, half-falen to decay,
The Balm of Gileac-fragrant now as then.
seem to smell it's vanished buds again
Tangled rose bushes in tagged row,
Cinnamon roses-out of fashion now;
narrow brooklet runs along beside,
And paper beats adown its current glide.
The meeting house, such as you all must know,
Barn-llke and bare, windows in double rows;
Save as We look at it through memory's haze
Little it wears of comeliness or grace.
Its steps the sexton mounted thrice each day,
Punctual as the sun, old. bent and gray,
With both hands pulled the heavy bell-rope
down,
Rang out the hour to all the listening town.
Each night at nine O'Clock the warning sped,
And then our day was done; we went to bed.
There is the shipyard that loved so we'll.
" 18th each familiar sight, and sound. and smell.
Fragrance of oak, AMI pine, and boiling tar,
And wet brown seaweed; while from near and
far
Strokes of the adze and mallets mingle still
With the loud purring of the busy mill,
And liquid voices of the rising tide
Singing IN undertone on ever tide.
The weather-heaten schooners, old and gray,
That took our chowder- parties down the bay
The Yankee Adams and the Morning Star,
These were their names-I wonder where they
are?
Gone where the spirits of good schooners dwell
Green be th ir memory! We loved them we'll
One playmate should find unchanged today,
The never-resting waters of the bay.
thine writes no wrinkles on its azure BROW
In the cold moonlight it is sparkling now.
Your patience do tire? Yet bear with me,
Are we not children of one family?
Have We NOT met to tell how dear we hold
Our common mother and the homestead old?
What wonder if the words crowd thick and fast
Recounting thus the treasures of the past?
But all things end pleasure as well as pain,
And We must turn our faces west again.
Cover the glowing GOALS put out the light,
'The bell ls ringing nine" "Good night'-"good
night
REBECcA PALFREY UTTER.