  Out in the grassy meadow, As the light begins to fade, To-day I sit in shadow, Where in childhood hours I played. The old stone, ’neath the maple, The brooklet, beside the wall, Are just as dear as ever To this little girl grown tall. The tinkle of bell, in pasture, The glow of the sunset light, Bring back those other twilights When I drove the cows at night. The whip-poor-will’s loud singing, In his leafy bower on high, Recalls the times I answered And my echo made reply. I hear another calling, In the branches overhead, For years they have been many And the young must sing instead. Adown the little pathway That leads to pasture bars, I see the grasses growing, Where the footprints numbered stars. In place of dear old homestead Is ruin and heap of stone; And tears are dimming vision, As I think and gaze alone. The same old tree is standing, Where it towered years before, With branches reaching outward, To the low-eaved porch and door. A hush is stealing o’er me, Like the quiet of the night; I can but breathe a blessing For the dear ones gone from sight. Tho’ feeble steps are silenced, And the smiles no more I see, Yet there, where Home remaineth, They will wait to welcome me. Alone! and yet in dreaming I can live and love once more The days of happy childhood, In the sunshine gone before. And tho’ my light is fading And the night must come I know, Yet the sunbeams will be stealing Thro’ the rifts of long ago. |
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