But ah! how joyful we return
To the pure shrine of home.

There we find sweet repose and peace,
There too our holiest love;
And there we gain a foretaste pure
Of coming joys above.

Then "Home, sweet home," shall be our song
On earth, and when on high
'Twill still be home, dear, happy home,
In the glad "by-and-by."

* * * * *






IT IS BUT A FADED ROSEBUD.


It is but a lone faded rosebud
That a dearly loved one gave to me,
In years now long past but remembered
And shrined for the years yet to be.

It opens the floodgates of memory,
Discoursing of dear days gone by,