The Wife To Her Husband
Linger not long. Home is not home without thee:
Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn.
O, let its memory, like a chain about thee,
Gently compel and hasten thy return!
Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy staying.
Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friend, though dear,
Compensate for the grief thy long delaying
Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here?
Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming,
As evening shadows stretch o’er moor and dell;
When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming,
And silence hangs on all things like a spell!
How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow stronger,
As night grows dark and darker on the hill!
How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer!
Ah, art thou absent, art thou absent still?
Haste, haste thee home unto thy cottage dwelling,
Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest!
Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide and swelling,
Flies to its haven of securest rest!
—Anon.
Home, Sweet Home
‘Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, sought through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.
Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
There’s no place like home!
—John Howard Payne.
Alternate Reading: Mark 3: 20-35.