Whcn I long tor sainted memories, Like angel troops they cüiuo, If I told iny artas to ponder ' On the olil, old home. The heart bas many passages Thrnugh whioh the feelings roam, But its middle aisle is lacrea To tliu thoughts oi old, old home. Where iniancy was sheltered Like rosc-buds ïrom the blost Where girlhood's brief olysium In joyousness was pOflMd ; To that sweet spot forever, Aa to Konic haliowqd dome Liio's pilgrim benda har visión - 'Tia her old, old hi m ;. A father sat, how jiiou lly. liy that old iie;inl.Svone's rays, And told his diildren Btorles Of his early manhood's days; And olie soft oye v:is beaming, I'runi childto cliiid 'twould roam; Tlius B niutlier counts her tre;usiuos Iu tlie oid, old. hoiue. The birtlklay gii'ts and festiv::!:-, The blandea vesper hymn (Bonie dear one who was swelling it Is with the Seraphim), The fond "ffood-night's "atbed-timB, How qiiiet-yleep woidd come, And told us all together In tlie old, old hom. Like a wreatli of scentcd flowers Close intertwined eacfa heart; Bnt time and ehange in concert Have hlown the wroatb apart. But deur and sainted mimoriw Like angels ever come, If i íold iny anus and ponder On the old, old home.