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There is dust on the doorway, there is mold on the wall There s a chill at the hearthstone a hush through the hall; And the stately old mansion stands darkened and cold By the leal, loving hearts that it sheltered of old. No light at the lattice, no smile at the door; No cheer at its table, no dance on its floor; But "Glory departed," and silence alone;
"Dust unto dust " upon pillar and stone! No laughter of childhood, no shout on the lawn; No footstep to echo the feet that are gone: Feet of the beautiful, forms of the brave Failing in other lands, gone to the grave. No carol at morning, no hymn rising clear, Nor. song at the bridal, nor chant at the bier! All the chords of its symphonies scattered and riven, Its altar in ashes, its incense in Heaven. T is an ache at the heart, thus lonely to stand By the wreck of a home once the pride of the land; Its chambers unfilled as its children depart, The melody stilled in its desolate heart. Yet softly the sunlight still rests on the grass And lightly and swiftly the cloud-shadows pass, And still the wide meadow exults in the sheen With its foam crest of snow, and its billows of green!
