Poems (Truesdell)/Home

by Helen Truesdell

For works with similar titles, see Home.

HOME.

Home! dearest home! I love thee well
I love thee more than words can tell;
There is no spot to me on earth
So dear, as that which gave me birth;
There are no friends so dear to me,
As those who tell me most of thee.

Oh, could I leave my much loved home,
O'er this unfriendly world to roam?
Say, could I bid a long adieu
To friends so loved and honored too?
There are some things for which I'd dare
To leave my own loved bower of prayer—
Things which so fill my trusting heart,
That tears, repenting tears, will start.

Saviour! dear Saviour! for thy sake
I would the ties of kindred break,—
Gaze my last look on this loved shore,
And part with friends, to meet no more
Shall I assist to raise on high
A standard, 'neath a burning sky?
Or 'mid the western forests rove,
An outcast far from all I love?

Gladly, if I a soul might save;—
Though I should meet an early grave
Where the rude Rocky Mountains rise
In gloomy grandeur to the skies,
And the Pacific's rock-bound shore
Is washed with never ceasing roar;
Where the untutored savage yell
Is heard, but ne'er the Sabbath bell.