Youth's Home And Mother Poem by Samuel Alfred Beadle

Down the long flight of years,
With the fleet sweep of time,
Our memory still bears
On the one place sublime,
Of all that earth holds of joy and of mirth,
And that place, friend, is the place of our birth.


The gay may dazzle the eye,
For a time brightly blaze
Then dimly burn and die;
Then 'tis we fix and gaze
On all that earth holds of joy and of mirth,
Down the dim vista ways of long ago.


Friendship may fail and fly
Off by night and our joy,
With the breath of morning die;
Naught be ours but alloy,
And all that earth holds of joy and of mirth,
Youth's home and mother and her sterling worth


Deep as is the ocean's brine,
Love will trace her epitaph,
Along the strand of time;
Where stands the biograph
Of all the nation's worth, its cares and mirth
In mother's love, and faith, and works, and home.


These will blaze, burn and glow
Until the end of time;
Till again we meet, and know
Our parting was sublime!
Till we meet and know, where the ransomed go,
Up the endless aisles of paradise.