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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
Copyright ©2002 Austin & Associates. All rights reserved. Howard B. Austin's writings are provided on this site for your pleasure. Those who visit are not granted permission to copy or distribute any of these writings without written permission.
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