Henry Clay Work

(1 October 1832 – 8 June 1884 / Middletown, Connecticut)

Henry Clay Work Poems

41. Sequel To Grandfather's Clock 1/3/2003
42. Lost On The Lady Elgin 1/3/2003
43. Joy In Heaven 1/3/2003
44. Andy Veto 1/3/2003
45. Touch The Sleeping Strings Again 1/3/2003
46. Lilly-Willy-Woken 1/3/2003
47. Georgie Sails To-Morrow! 1/3/2003
48. Dad's A Millionaire 1/3/2003
49. Don'T Be Cruel To The Motherless Darlings 1/3/2003
50. King Bibler's Army 1/3/2003
51. Little Major 1/3/2003
52. The Picture On The Wall 1/3/2003
53. Come To Me, Sunbeam! I'M Dying 1/3/2003
54. Washington And Lincoln 1/3/2003
55. Now Moses 1/3/2003
56. Crossing The Grand Sierras 1/3/2003
57. Kingdom Coming 1/3/2003
58. Crying For Bread 1/3/2003
59. Corporal Schnapps 1/3/2003
60. Come Back To The Farm! 1/3/2003
61. We Are Coming, Sister Mary 1/3/2003
62. Sleeping For The Flag 1/3/2003
63. Babylon Is Fallen! 1/3/2003
64. Grafted Into The Army 1/3/2003
65. Farewell, My Loved One! 1/3/2003
66. Wake Nicodemus! 1/3/2003
67. Brave Boys Are They! 1/3/2003
68. The Days When We Were Young 1/3/2003
69. Grandmother Told Me So 1/3/2003
70. Come, Pretty School-Girl! 1/3/2003
71. Grand-Father's Clock 1/3/2003
72. Come Home, Father! 1/3/2003

Comments about Henry Clay Work

  • Mo. (9/26/2007 8:28:00 AM)

    ''He's a skillful song writer, and poet! ''

    0 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
Best Poem of Henry Clay Work

Come Home, Father!

'Tis The
Standing at the bar-room door
While the shameful midnight revel
Rages wildly as before.

Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes one;
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done.
Our fire has gone out our house is all dark
And mother's been watching since tea, --
With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
And no one to help her but me. --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --

Hear the ...

Read the full of Come Home, Father!

The Old Village Doctor

In the village where he married,
Doctor Eldebury tarried;
And for fourty years our people knew him well.
How he listered us and bled us,
How with calomel he fed us,
Only I am living now to tell.
Though his drugs were deadly, yet his heart was kind,
And with voice tuned cheerily and high,
It was "Up, now, my little fellow! livly's can be!

[Report Error]