Uno day in the early autumn Of a bright and happy yeai, I wumlerod away to me homenleed, To tbe hoiiK'Btead oíd snd dcar; A ruin it stood bcforo m - A ruin, witb moas oY-rgrown, Witb the door on broken hiugcs, And falling chimney stone. Ah I wander'd arouiid and arnuiul it. And in, through each diinty room, With only the loneíy echoes Of my feet a-Througb the gloom, I thoiiffht bow thoy Borne-timen told me That ivay f rom the mhtnng tíire, The áead coinö bsok in thn nilnco To the hoinus Ihey have lovod boforo. And I naid, does he - the maft(T, The ftither, who loved ro veil The homeett-ad amid Üm meadoWH, The brook in tho winding dell- Den b he !■, er oome m the nilonce Of the nigbt's olear, starry houre, VHIi Iiin voice of silvery laughier Through the taugk-d weödfl and flowers? Dom he oomt I aaked, in tho twilight - Doeg he come to the ojwn docar, Kiul wit in tho poacli-trc-V chadow As he nat in Ihc dayü of vore ? And over the foot-worn pathwuy Roes he go to the wlcket gte, And stund and wait for tho ehUdren Af he iwed to staad aud wait? Does he look adüwn tho roadside, And ander tho nhadowy oaks, And hear the lake-waven murniur, And the oarsmanV gentle Btroke, "["ill he Heen the chttdren'fl facea So bright, ttJid young, and fair, With tho moonlight's golden brightnoss On tht_ ulack a-nd tho auburn hair ? And when, with thcir gleeful siuging, Tliey follow hiin thrnngh the gatef To tho hearthstoue, where tho inother Doth paticntly watrh and wait - Does he - as he used to aay it - With a face eo cheery and bright, " Blees God, oh mother, our darlings, Out children are safe to-night M Is it thus üiat he sees he homestead, In the beauty of early years ? Or it"s mfidew, and blight, and ruin, And tbc childron's etruggles and teara ? Does he come in the purple gloaming, And wander through chamber and hall, And yearn for the dear oíd faces, And the love that brightonod all?