THE SIX AT HOME

 

I would not play the poet's part

Who sings of birds and flowers;

Of rip'ling rills and babb'ling brooks

And sunset's golden hours.

Who writes of stars and silver moon

Up yonder in the blue;

All stilted phrase I'm leaving out:

This rhyme's from me to you.

 

We're sitting here, this night of nights,

Six kids, all "on our own";

This room's alive with memories

Of other days, and home.

We've had our share of joy, I guess,

We've known the average lot;

Tonight we're back from far away,

Back to the very spot--

 

Where mem'ries' sacred chains and strong

Have bound us through the years,

And as we live our yesterdays,

The smiles shine through the tears.

A long, long way from then to now,

Which life to us is real,

And do you know the balm of home

A broken heart may heal?

 

We somehow feel a Presence here,

A calm, where all was stress;

For those we loved, they're here tonight,

To know, to love, to bless.

A happier thrill is in my heart,

An easier load I bear;

For strength abounds where I was weak

And gone the weight of care.

 

We six united once again,

We brothers, sisters all;

Together, an unbroken chain;

Divided, shall we fall,

Or shall the years make strong the tie

Of blood and loyalty;

Increase our faith in each and all

With honest constancy.

 

We scarce recall the dreams of youth;

The silver's in our hair;

We've lost the faith of yesterday

With each infrequent prayer.

Ere long we're leaving, one by one;

We've been here near our time,

Within our hearts unto the last

I know we'll hear the chime--

 

Of voices from the days of yore,

Do graves give them release;

Or was their love so deep and strong

They give us of their peace?

This dinner here's a sacred rite;

My heart bade me to come;

We're not alone, we're more than six;

God Bless Us, WE'RE AT HOME.

 

            By:       H. B. Austin

 

 

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