Oh! tell me, will you meet. Me soon, my own?Thine be the hand to guide Me when I come—Am called to meet you In (once more) our "home"?O call me soon, O come And take me "home" to rest,My own true love, O sweetest, dearest, best!
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
Recitation.
Recitation.
Somehow, it does'nt seemLike Christmas this year, wife:I suppose it is because we missSo much the little lifeEntrusted to our care;Ah me! Was ever gemMore dearly prized, more rare?She went away: now let me see,'Tis ten long years todaySince death's cold handBroke our home band,Took Marjorie away.Do you remember, wife, the yearShe searched the woods all overFor evergreen and holly bright,Our homely walls to cover?She draped the walls and pictures, tooWith mistletoe and pineIn memory of Him who was bornAmong the lowly kine.
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We're sitting here alone, dear wife,Our boy has gone away;We never thoughtOur cherished sonWould ever go astray.Somehow, I never thoughtHow it could be that our JoeWould forge a check,Would cause us suchDeep and bitter sorrow.Ah well! Mayhap that some dayThe clouds will a silver lining show,And in the bright hereafterWe shall the real truth know.Hark! Wife, I think I hear a stepAnd 'tis a step we know!O can it be—it surely is—It really is our Joe!
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