Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Come Home

Come Home.

            Come home.Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep, Would I could wing it like a bird to thee,To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep With these unwearying words of melody,           Brother, come home.

            Come home.Come to the hearts that love thee, to the eyes That beam in brightness, but to gladden thine;Come where fond thoughts like holiest incense rise, Where cherished memory rears her altar's shrine.           Brother, come home.

            Come home.Come to the hearthstone of thy earlier days, Come to the ark, like the o'erwearied dove,Come with the sunlight of thy heart's warm rays, Come to the fireside circle of thy love.           Brother, come home.

            Come home.It is not home without thee; the lone seat Is still unclaimed where thou wert wont to be;In every echo of returning feet, In vain we list for what should herald thee.           Brother, come home.

            Come home.We've nursed for thee the sunny birds of spring, Watched every germ a full-blown floweret rear,Saw o'er their bloom the chilly winter bring Its icy garlands, and thou art not here.           Brother, come home.

            Come home.Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep, Would I could wing it like a bird to thee,To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep With these unwearying words of melody,           Brother, come home.