The Six At Home

I would not play the poet's part
Who sings of birds and flowers;
Of rip'ling rills and babb'ling brooks
And sunset's golden hours.
Who writes of stars and silver moon
Up yonder in the blue;
All stilted phrase I'm leaving out:
This rhyme's from me to you.

We're sitting here, this night of nights,
Six kids, all "on our own";
This room's alive with memories
Of other days, and home.
We've had our share of joy, I guess,
We've known the average lot;
Tonight we're back from far away,
Back to the very spot--

Where mem'ries' sacred chains and strong
Have bound us through the years,
And as we live our yesterdays,
The smiles shine through the tears.
A long, long way from then to now,
Which life to us is real,
And do you know the balm of home
A broken heart may heal?

We somehow feel a Presence here,
A calm, where all was stress;
For those we loved, they're here tonight,
To know, to love, to bless.
A happier thrill is in my heart,
An easier load I bear;
For strength abounds where I was weak
And gone the weight of care.

We six united once again,
We brothers, sisters all;
Together, an unbroken chain;
Divided, shall we fall,
Or shall the years make strong the tie
Of blood and loyalty;
Increase our faith in each and all
With honest constancy.

We scarce recall the dreams of youth;
The silver's in our hair;
We've lost the faith of yesterday
With each infrequent prayer.
Ere long we're leaving, one by one;
We've been here near our time,
Within our hearts unto the last
I know we'll hear the chime--

Of voices from the days of yore,
Do graves give them release;
Or was their love so deep and strong
They give us of their peace?
This dinner here's a sacred rite;
My heart bade me to come;
We're not alone, we're more than six;
God Bless Us, WE'RE AT HOME.

By: H. B. Austin