Old house, old house, may I come in?
Pray let me rest along the way
From regions lost in shadows dim
To glories of a fairer day.
I’m weary in both heart and mind,
And seek the rest I know you hold.
I do not find it in new schemes
But rather in the patterns old.
How gray and strong your sturdy walls!
What faith and courage do they speak
My sires came to manifest
When love for freedom made them seek
A place where they might build their homes
And worship God in quietude!
Whose very atmosphere was peace
Away from war and vexing feud.
What strength of mind, what faith of heart
Once blest the souls that tarried here!
Great sacrifice was common bread
Upon their tables year by year.
Once hardship walked this dusty street
And sickness crept across each floor
And often loved ones were called home,
For sorrow tapped at every door.
Old house, please let me tarry here
And listen for the echoes sweet
Of songs and skipping I can hear
From singing hearts and dancing feet.
Your walls, old house, like gentle arms
Now hold me safe and give me rest.
There’s strength and peace in your embrace
I need in life’s demanding test.
I see again the shadow forms
Of those who lived here long ago­—
The children playing in the door,
And mothers passing to and fro
About the humble household tasks,
To which they dedicated lives
To make a wholesome, honest home­
Like working bees in busy hives.
A maiden twirls a spinning wheel
I see her stepping forth and back
I hear a dasher in a churn,
For clothes and food there is no lack.
The open fire again I feel
And see the soft light on the wall,
And kettles hanging on the crane.
And hear the happy voices call
The men from out the harvest field,
Their backs all damp with honest sweat,
From carving out a commonwealth­—
Strong men as ever I have met.
I hear the old folks gently speak
Of France and loved ones left behind.
Now held in happy memory—
Their thoughts are deep—their words are kind.
Fresh candles from the mould are brought
And lo! the room they soon transform.
Though winter snow may wrap them round,
The well-fed fireplace keeps them warm.
The knitting needles seem to fly,
And there is weaving to be done.
The women’s hands were never still
From morn till set of sun.
And as they sit at close of day
The Bible from a shelf one brings
To feed their trusting hearts the Word.
And very oft the old house rings
With hymns of praise and joyful song.
Glad hearts are theirs for freedom’s sake.
What sacrifice and hardship borne
A land of freedom thus to make!
A costly heritage is ours,
A heavy price our sires paid.
Then think not lightly of their lives
Nor let them from our hearts e’er fade.
And so, old house, I love to come
To let your shadow fall on me­
A benediction strong and sweet
Of freedom, peace and liberty.