And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the bailie's wife Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Gie little Kate her button gown, There 's twa fat hens upo' the bauk And spread the table neat and clean, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa'? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in 't As he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, If Colin's weel and weel content, And gin I live to keep him sae And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak? For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in the house JEAN ADAM. A WINTER EVENING AT HOME 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, WILLIAM COWPER (The Task). HOME, SWEET HOME MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, There's no place like home! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain : Give me them and the peace of mind dearer than all ! There's no place like home! JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. IT'S HAME, AND IT'S HAME Ir 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, An' it 's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree! The green leaf o' loyaltie 's beginning for to fa', It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame, fain wad I be, There 's naught now frae ruin my country can save It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, OLD FOLKS AT HOME 'WAY down upon the Swanee Ribber, Dare 's wha my heart is turning ebber, - All up and down de whole creation, Still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home. All de world am sad and dreary, Eb'rywhere I roam; Oh, darkeys, how my heart grows weary, All round de little farm I wandered, When I was young; Den many happy days I squandered, When I was playing wid my brudder, Oh, take me to my kind old mudder! All de world am sad and dreary, etc. One little hut among de bushes,— One dat I love, Still sadly to my memory rushes, When will I see de bees a-humming, When will I hear the banjo tumming All de world am sad and dreary, etc. MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME THE sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home; The corn-top 's ripe and the meadow 's in the bloom, All merry, all happy, all bright; By'm by hard times comes a knockin' at the door,Then my old Kentucky home, good night! CHORUS. Weep no more, my lady; O, weep no more to-day! They hunt no more for the possum and the coon, The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart, The time has come when the darkeys have to part, Weep no more, my lady, etc. The head must bow, and the back will have to bend, Wherever the darkey may go; A few more days, and the troubles all will end, In the fields where the sugar-cane grow; A few more days to tote the weary load, A few more days till we totter on the road, Weep no more, my lady, etc. STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER. IN A STRANGE LAND OH, to be home again, home again, home again! Oh, how I long to be wandering, wandering Oh, once more to be home again, home again, JAMES THOMAS FIELDS. NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME THERE is no time like the old time, when you and I were young, When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds of springtime sung! The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed, But, oh, the sweet, sweet, violets, the flowers that opened first! There is no place like the old place where you and I were born! Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of the morn, From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the clinging arms that bore, Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look on us no more ! There is no friend like the old friend who has shared our morning days, No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise; Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold, But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold. There is no love like the old love that we courted in our pride; Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're fading side by side, There are blossoms all around us with the colors of our dawn, And we live in borrowed sunshine when the light of day is gone. There are no times like the old times they shall never be forgot! There is no place like the old place — keep green the dear old spot! There are no friends like our old friends - may Heaven prolong their lives! There are no loves like our old loves - God bless our loving wives! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood |