SONG OF THE LONELY.

Son, first-born, at home abiding!
All without is cold and bare:
Hide me from the tempest’s chiding
Warm beside the Father’s chair.

I am homesick, Lord of splendour!
Twilight fills my soul with fright:
Let thy countenance befriend her,
Shining from the halls of light.

I am homesick, loving Father!
Long years hath the pain increased:
Soon, oh soon! thy children gather
To the endless marriage-feast.