The Home

"Home" says the sweet voice, and warm Comfort rises,

Holding my soul with velvet-fingered hands;

Comfort of leafy lair and lapping fur,

Soft couches, cushions, curtains, and the stir

Of easy pleasures that the body prizes,

Of soft, swift feet to serve the least commands.



I shrink—half rise—and then it murmurs "Duty!"

Again the past rolls out—a scroll unfurled;

Allegiance and long labor due my lord

Allegiance in an idleness abhorred—

I am the squaw—the slave—the harem beauty—

I serve and serve, the handmaid of the world.

My soul rebels—but hark! a new note thrilling,



Deep, deep, past finding—I protest no more;

The voice says "Love!" and all those ages dim

Stand glorified and justified in him;

I bow—I kneel—the woman soul is willing—

"Love is the law. Be still! Obey! Adore!"

And then—ah, then! The deep voice murmurs "Mother!"

And all life answers from the primal sea;

A mingling of all lullabies; a peace



That asks no understanding; the release

Of nature's holiest power—who seeks another?

Home? Home is Mother—Mother, Home—to me.

"Home!" says the deep voice; "Home and Easy Pleasure!

Safety and Comfort, Laws of Life well kept!