The Farm

When the year has lived its euinmer, And the birds have touched thetr etrain, And fullripe for the (teen sickle Beiids the hoary-beardsd grain, All my feelines gatber softly, Like sweet comforters, and say, Slimmer time bas gone, but autumn Brings a ealmer, fruitful day. When I, waudering where tbe summer Lingered fondly to the iaat, Re tbe fairest flowers withered By tbe first chili autumn blaat; Naujjbt of sadues fllls my spirit That ray roses long have blown, For each leaf that flutters earthward Tells me I am nearer home. And whea sunset fades out eoldly And tbe barren fields look gray, The last golden fruits all gathered, The last reapej' gone away, Weary I, aud radly loiteriDg, Evening shadows softly come, ï'ouching my sore feet with healing, As thuy whisper "Nearer Home." And uiy heart puts off al] sadness, Though the barren fields are gray, 'DiourIi the golden fniits are gathered, And the birds have flowa away ; Fnr I'ra going where the flowers Bloom in perpetual spring, Whore the birds no inore are fickle, But remain to ever sing: Where no frost hath ever blighted The bright verdurenf the clime, And the fairest fruits are ripened. Where the enn knows no decline; And my wasted spirit singetrIu a bort and hopeful tone, Till Ihe stars ehinedown to light me On and upward to my home!