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COME HOME.
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COME HOME!
Come home!—there is a sorrowing breath
In music since ye went,
And the early flower-scents wander by,
With mournful memories blent.
The tones in every household voice
Are grown more sad and deep,
And the sweet word—brother—wakes a wish
To turn aside and weep.
O ye Beloved! come home!—the hour
Of many a greeting tone,
The time of hearth-light and of song,
Returns—and ye are gone!
And darkly, heavily it falls
On the forsaken room,
