Show I THE TIrE OLD HOME To one ono with stress of trade And schemes of at pain gain In In city marts There coins coms a n breath of ot country countr hay Wafted horn passing carts Fades the tho long line lino of ot brick and stone The streets' streets rude tumult dies awai awaS' awaS From money getting for tor a a. space Ills soul cries erica holiday By that enchantment rt from town He runs his hand In Memory's Up tho the dear lane to the old homo horno Beside the tranquil trees The Tho gardens garden's myriad cups of ot bloom His withered heart with fragrance flood nood Barn pigeons pis cooing lull to rest reet Tho The unrest of or his blood A harp untouched these theo many years His soul once more to music wakes akes Swept b by tho the wind that bends the grass And AmI stirs tho the meadow brakes him down tho the orchard path Past Post and tho the pasture wall Her walks who taught her child Of Ot tho the L Love Lc c that Is oer o'er all S S S C Tho The vision vanishes and straight Tho streets street s rude tumult In his ears cars But In n his hla heart a n. heavenly strain And In his eyes sweet tears Charles Francis Saunders ln Harpers Harper's Magazine |