Home Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

I foraged all over this joy-dotted earth,
To pick its best nosegay of innocent mirth
Tied up with the bands of its wisdom and worth,--
And lo! its chief treasure,
Its innermost pleasure,
Was always at Home!

I went to the Palace, and there my fair Queen
On the arm of Her Husband did lovingly lean,
And all the dear babes in their beauty were seen,
In spite of the splendour,
So happy and tender,
For they were at Home!

I call'd on the Lady of Bountiful Hall,--
And there she was feasting the great and the small,
Encircled by flowers and children and all,
From Fashion unbending
And gently descending
To greet them at Home!

I turn'd to the cottage, and there my poor hind
Lay sick of a fever,-- all meekly resign'd,
For oh! the good wife was so cheerful and kind,
In scorn of all matters,
An angel in tatters,
And she was at Home!

I ask'd a glad mother, just come from the post
With a letter she kiss'd from a far-away coast,
What heart-thrilling news had rejoiced her the most--
And -- gladness for mourning!
Her boy was returning
To love her -- at Home!

I spoke to the soldiers and sailors at sea,
Where best in the world would they all of them be?
And hark! how they earnestly shouted to me,
With iron hearts throbbing,
And choking and sobbing,
-- Oh land us at Home!

I came to the desk where old Commerce grew gray,
And ask'd him what help'd him this many a day
In his old smoky room with his ledger to stay?
And it all was the beauty,
The comfort and duty,
That cheer'd him at Home!

I ran to the court, where the sages of law
Were wrangling and jangling at quibble and flaw,--
Oh wondrous to me was the strife that I saw,--
But all that fierce riot
Was calm'd by the quiet
That blest them at Home!

I call'd on the school-boy, poor love-stricken lad,
Who yearn'd in his loneliness, silent and sad,
For the days when again he should laugh and be glad
With his father and mother,
And sister and brother,
All happy at Home!

I tapp'd at the door of the year-stricken Eld,
Where age, as I thought, had old memories quell'd,--
But still all his garrulous fancies outwell'd
Strange old-fashion'd stories
Of pleasures and glories
That once were at Home!

I whisper'd the prodigal, wanton and wild,
-- How changed from the heart that you had when a child,
So teachable, noble, and modest, and mild!--
Though Sin had undone him,
Thank God that I won him,
By looking at Home!

And then, when he wept and he vow'd better life,
I hasten'd to snatch him from peril and strife,
By finding him wisely a tender young Wife,--
Whose love should allure him,
And gently secure him
A convert at Home!

So he that had raced after pleasure so fast,
And still as he ran had its goal overpast,
Found happiness, honour, and blessing at last
In all the kind dealings,
Affections and feelings,
That ripen at Home!