The day is passing; I have tarried long;

My way leads far through paths I fear to try;

But as I go I'll cheer my heart with song—

Old home, good-bye!

In hallowed scenes what feet have trod thy stage!

The babe, the maiden leaving home to wed;

The young man going forth by duty led

And faltering age.

And some, returning from far distant lands,

Fainting and sick their ways to thee have wended

To feel the sweet ministry of loving hands,

Their journeys ended.

Thou hadst a soul—thy goodly prop' and stay

That kept the log, the compass and the chart,

And showed the way for many a trusting heart—

The long, long way!

O humble home! thou hadst a secret door

Through which I looked, betimes, with wondering

eye

On splendors that no palace ever wore

In days gone by.

From narrow walls thy lamp gave glad release

And shone afar on distant lands and powers;

A sweet voice sang of love and heavenly peace

And made them ours.

Thou hadst a magic window, broad and high—

The light and glory of the morning shone

Through it, however dark the day had grown

Or bleak the sky.

Its panes, like mighty lenses, brought to view

A fairer home; I saw in depths above

The timber of the old home in the new—

The oak of love.