Poems (Hoffman)/Home, Sweet Home
For works with similar titles, see Home, Sweet Home.
HOME, SWEET HOME
Backward across the lapse of years,With its ebbing tide of smiles and tears,Memory turns her wistful gazeAnd sighs for the pleasures of by-gone days,Yearns for one glimpse through the crested foamAnd pauses to whisper: "Home, sweet Home."
Not for a palace does she sighWith rare old painting and tapestry,Nor an humble cottage with lowly wall,Nor the haughty pride of a stately hall;For the loving, tender grace of homeIs more than the palace, cot or dome.
O bare were the walls, though decked with careIf affection never flourished there!And lonely each richly furnished roomIf love came not to light their gloom,Powerless the sweetest spot on earthIf crumbling walls were its only worth;
But the threshold is worn by hurrying feetWhose pathways perhaps no more shall meet,And loving voices still perfume the airLike ghosts of dead roses hovering there;And smiles still blend with the sun-beams bright,And tears distill with the dews of night;
And the vines o'er the moss-grown portals woundHave thrilled to the touch of a loving hand.And each tree and shrub in the garden's bowersBears some time-worn record of childhood's hours;And crowned over all in its undimmed graceThe gentle light of a mother's face.
Forward beyond the wrecks of timeFaith looks to another fairer climeWhere no crumbling shrines of lost happinessShall dim the past with their bitterness,Where no vanished hand shall leave its traceOr love repine for a long lost face.
Faith turns from sad Memory's crumbling domeAnd sings in her gladness: "Home, sweet Home!"Not for the streets of transparent goldNor the pearly gateways backward rolledNor the tree of Life, nor the river fairNor the untold glories gathered there,
Nor the many mansions ever brightIn the beautiful realm where there is no night;Not even the crown or the glittering throneIs the prize that lures to that better home.O Heaven, time were but barren dearthIf gold and gems were thine only worth!
But brighter than all those towers aboveIs the haloed presence of sacred love,For those gates shall echo the eager feetAnd those courts resound when the ransomed meet,And those mansions ring from portal to domeWhen the wandering children are gathered home;
And crowned over all in matchless graceThe glorious light of the Saviour's face,And the power that sways that world of blissIs the power that makes a home in this;But nevermore shall the pilgrims roamWhen they join in the angel's Home sweet Home.