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!