THE OLD-FASHIONED FIRE.
145
But brightest of all, round this old-fashioned hearth
Were once beaming fair faces, no more seen on earth.
Were once beaming fair faces, no more seen on earth.
But their memory comes o'er me, like songs and sweet flowers,
To gladden my spirit in sorrow's dark hours;
Though welcome their presence, not long may it stay,
For like song and sweet flower, they have faded away!
Then a song for the fire, the old-fashioned fire,
Though stove, grate, and furnace, our moderns admire.
To gladden my spirit in sorrow's dark hours;
Though welcome their presence, not long may it stay,
For like song and sweet flower, they have faded away!
Then a song for the fire, the old-fashioned fire,
Though stove, grate, and furnace, our moderns admire.
I love and I long for the old-fashioned days,
When all kind thoughts seemed warmed into life by its blaze;
And O! how I yearn for a sight of that home,
From whose cheerful hearth-side no more would I roam;
But—my lamp's going out, and I've broken my lyre,
While tuning its strings by this old-fashioned fire.
When all kind thoughts seemed warmed into life by its blaze;
And O! how I yearn for a sight of that home,
From whose cheerful hearth-side no more would I roam;
But—my lamp's going out, and I've broken my lyre,
While tuning its strings by this old-fashioned fire.
