And home of comfort name you.

The spinning-wheels, in attic hid,
Tell me of busy fingers;
And 'round the farm, long tenantless,
An air of home still lingers.

Of bygone days you speak to me,
With all your ling'ring treasures;
You summon musings of the past,
And promise future pleasures.

My Sleeping Beauty, I'm your Prince,
At my kiss you will waken
To fuller life than e'er you knew,
Before you were forsaken.

The great of earth will gather here,
'Twill be the home of Muses;
Thy beauty and thy peacefulness
A wondrous charm diffuses.

I have a dream that years ahead,
From out your humble portals
Will issue music, art and song,
To bless aspiring mortals.

And mayhap when the eyes of men
Turn toward you lovingly,
Some gentle heart will breathe a prayer,