Wednesday, 28 February 2018

My Home Beyond the Sea

Beyond the dark and rolling tide,
     Beyond the deep blue sea,
There is a lowly mountain cot,
     Earth’s dearest place to me.

My youthful vision first beheld
     In it the light of day.
And, Oh, it is the loveliest spot
     To me on life’s rough way.

In dreams I see its snow-white walls,
     Bedecked with roses rare;
The honeysuckle and the vine
     Entwine their branches there.

The earliest beams, of God’s great sun
     Light up each nook and dell;
And chase the dewdrops from each flower
     And path I love so well.

The sparrow and the swallow flit
     Around those whitewashed walls;
But dearer is that spot to me
     Than all earth’s lordly halls.

I love to think when sets the sun,
     Of that dear home afar;
Upon whose roof at close of day
     Beams down my polar star.

And though my eyes may never see
     That humble cot again.
The vision of its loveliness
     With me will still remain.

New York City.

Poem from The Witness, 1st March 1918.
Image: Granny's Irish Cottage, an oil painting by Norma Wilson.

No comments:

Post a Comment