A Book For The Home Fireside Poem by John Critchley Prince

When the night cometh round, and our duties are done,
And a calm stealeth over the breast,
When the bread that is needful is honestly won,
And our worldly thoughts nestle to rest,—
How sweet at that hour is the truth-written page,
With fancy and fiction allied!
The magic of childhood, the solace of age,
Is a Book for the Home Fireside.

There manhood may strengthen a wavering mind
By the sage's severest of lore;
There woman, with sweetness and pathos combined,
Make the fountains of feeling run o'er;
There the voices of children may warble like birds
What the poet has uttered with pride,
And the faint and despairing take heart at the words
Of a Book for the Home Fireside.

Many minds have been trained into goodness and grace,
And many stern hearts chastened down;
Many men have been nerved to look up with bright face,
Whatever misfortune might frown;
Many souls have been roused to new life, and grown great,
Though baffled, obstructed, and tried;
Have been schooled to endure, taught to 'labour and wait,'
By a Book for the Home Fireside.

And not with the presence of Home is it gone,
For abroad in the fulness of day
Its spirit remains with us, cheering us on
O'er the roughness of life's common way;
And nature is lovely, but lovelier yet
Through the glass of reflection descried;
We have read of her wonders—and who would forget?—
In a Book for the Home Fireside.

Whate'er be my fortune, in shadow or shine,—
'Mid comfort, stern labour, or woe,
May I ne'er miss the taste of those waters divine
From the well-springs of Genius that flow;
I should lose a sweet charm, I should lack a great joy,
And my heart would seem withered and dried,
Did I want what has been my delight from a boy,—
A Book for the Home Fireside.

Bless the Bards and the Prosemen, wherever their clime,
Who bequeath us the wealth of their thought,
Their true revelations, their visions sublime,
Their fancies so tenderly wrought!
We were poor, with the riches of kings for our dower,
Without what their pens have supplied;
And that brain must be barren which owns not the power
Of a Book for the Home Fireside.

Dear child! let thy leisure be linked with the page,
But one nor too light nor austere;
May its precepts improve thee, its spirit engage,
And its sentiments soften and cheer;
May it keep thy affections in freshness and bloom;
Console thee, exalt thee, and guide;
Be a flower in the sunshine, a star in the gloom,
A Book for the Home Fireside!