Poems (Ford)/The Fireside at Home
THE FIRESIDE AT HOME.
When, tossed on the billows of life's dreary ocean,
We drift o'er the waters afar,
And vainly look up to the storm-clouds above us
To catch the pale beam of a star,—
When sorrow's dark veil, like the wing of the tempest,
O'ershadows our path as we roam,
One heart-cheering beacon shines out through the darkness—
The glow of the fireside at home.
We drift o'er the waters afar,
And vainly look up to the storm-clouds above us
To catch the pale beam of a star,—
When sorrow's dark veil, like the wing of the tempest,
O'ershadows our path as we roam,
One heart-cheering beacon shines out through the darkness—
The glow of the fireside at home.
Oft back to the light of the dear days departed
Does memory tenderly turn,
And for the sweet peace and contentment that crowned them,
The heart must unceasingly yearn;
For then, when the night over valley and mountain
Had folded her mantle of gloom,
Loved faces, so dear that their smiles were our sun-shine,
Encircled the fireside at home.
Does memory tenderly turn,
And for the sweet peace and contentment that crowned them,
The heart must unceasingly yearn;
For then, when the night over valley and mountain
Had folded her mantle of gloom,
Loved faces, so dear that their smiles were our sun-shine,
Encircled the fireside at home.
Oh, friends long departed, oh, bright days long vanished,
When back to the years that are fled
We turn, from the joys and the woes of the present,
To think of the loved and the dead,
The light wing of Fancy with fairy touch brushes
The dust from the doors of the tomb,
And once more unites us—the dead and the scattered,
Around the bright fireside at home.
When back to the years that are fled
We turn, from the joys and the woes of the present,
To think of the loved and the dead,
The light wing of Fancy with fairy touch brushes
The dust from the doors of the tomb,
And once more unites us—the dead and the scattered,
Around the bright fireside at home.
Oh, when the dim twilight of death is approaching,
Our wearisome journey near done,
And faintly and cold o'er our closing eyes gleameth
The pale beams of life's setting sun,—
Then, Father Almighty, across the dark valley,
Its doubts and its shadows and gloom,
We pray that the light of Thy love and Thy mercy
May guide us at last to our home.
Our wearisome journey near done,
And faintly and cold o'er our closing eyes gleameth
The pale beams of life's setting sun,—
Then, Father Almighty, across the dark valley,
Its doubts and its shadows and gloom,
We pray that the light of Thy love and Thy mercy
May guide us at last to our home.