Poems (Eaton)/My Childhood's Home

by Marcia Jane Eaton

OCCASIONAL POEMS.

MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME.

MY childhood's home! my childhood's home! The cottage 'neath the hill,With all its pleasant memories, Methinks I see it still.I see it in the midnight hour, When sleep profound doth reignThrough all the world, I live in dreams My childhood o'er again.

Again I hear the cheerful call And join the happy throng,And play the unforgotten games, Or sing the merry song—And in each shout of joyous mirth, Each well-remembered tone,I list the thrilling music heard In childhood's voice alone.

And childish griefs come stealing up Before my memory now,Which vanished when my mother's hand Lay gently on my brow, And when my father's glance of love Fell kindly on my own,My heart beat high with joyousness, And all my sorrow gone.

My father! 'twas no common love, That bound my heart to thee—My father! thou art ever shrined Deep in my memory—My childhood's idol! oh how oft I've called thee back in vain—How could I bear to think that we Should never meet again?

And thou my suffering mother too Hast bowed at Death's behest,And followed to that heaven, where The weary are at rest.Now re-united, both within That happy spirit land,Say, do you with parental love Watch o'er your orphaned band?

Guardians of my unconscious years! Still be your vigils keptO'er me, your wayward child, as when In infancy I slept. Still let me breathe in childish trust Each sorrow and each fear,And still live o'er those happy hours To memory ever dear.