Poems (Eaton)/My Childhood's Home

by Marcia Jane Eaton

OCCASIONAL POEMS.

MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME.

MY childhood's home! my childhood's home!
 The cottage 'neath the hill,
With all its pleasant memories,
 Methinks I see it still.
I see it in the midnight hour,
 When sleep profound doth reign
Through all the world, I live in dreams
 My childhood o'er again.

Again I hear the cheerful call
 And join the happy throng,
And play the unforgotten games,
 Or sing the merry song—
And in each shout of joyous mirth,
 Each well-remembered tone,
I list the thrilling music heard
 In childhood's voice alone.

And childish griefs come stealing up
 Before my memory now,
Which vanished when my mother's hand
 Lay gently on my brow,
And when my father's glance of love
 Fell kindly on my own,
My heart beat high with joyousness,
 And all my sorrow gone.

My father! 'twas no common love,
 That bound my heart to thee—
My father! thou art ever shrined
 Deep in my memory—
My childhood's idol! oh how oft
 I've called thee back in vain—
How could I bear to think that we
 Should never meet again?

And thou my suffering mother too
 Hast bowed at Death's behest,
And followed to that heaven, where
 The weary are at rest.
Now re-united, both within
 That happy spirit land,
Say, do you with parental love
 Watch o'er your orphaned band?

Guardians of my unconscious years!
 Still be your vigils kept
O'er me, your wayward child, as when
 In infancy I slept.
Still let me breathe in childish trust
 Each sorrow and each fear,
And still live o'er those happy hours
 To memory ever dear.