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"happy at home."
The fire blazing warmly the sofa drawn nigh;
And the star-lamp alight on the table close by;
A few sunny pictures in simple frames shrined,
A few precious volumes the wealth of the mind;
And here and there treasured some rare gem of art,
To kindle the fancy or soften the heart;
Thus richly surrounded, why, why should I roam?
Oh! am I not happy—most "happy at home?"
And the star-lamp alight on the table close by;
A few sunny pictures in simple frames shrined,
A few precious volumes the wealth of the mind;
And here and there treasured some rare gem of art,
To kindle the fancy or soften the heart;
Thus richly surrounded, why, why should I roam?
Oh! am I not happy—most "happy at home?"
The little ones, weary of books and of play,
Nestle down on our bosoms—our Ellen and May!
And softly the simple, affectionate prayer,
Ascends in the gladness of innocence there;
And now ere they leave us, sweet kisses and light
They lavish, repeating their merry "good-night!"
While I with my needle, my book, or my pen,
Or in converse with him, am contented again,
And cry—" Can I ever be tempted to roam,
While blessings like these make me happy at home?"
Nestle down on our bosoms—our Ellen and May!
And softly the simple, affectionate prayer,
Ascends in the gladness of innocence there;
And now ere they leave us, sweet kisses and light
They lavish, repeating their merry "good-night!"
While I with my needle, my book, or my pen,
Or in converse with him, am contented again,
And cry—" Can I ever be tempted to roam,
While blessings like these make me happy at home?"
