Poem: “Home” by Edgar A. Guest

A Heap o’ Livin’

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American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’
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The Path That Leads To Home > > >

Home

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it
     home,
  A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes
     have t’ roam
  Afore ye really ‘preciate the things ye lef’
     behind,
  An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus
     on yer mind.
  It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get
     t’ be,
  How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great
     yer luxury;
  It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a
     king,
  Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round
     everything.

  Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up
     in a minute;
  Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’
     in it;
  Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies
     born, and then
  Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ’em up t’ women
     good, an’ men;
  And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find ye
     wouldn’t part
  With anything they ever used—they’ve grown
     into yer heart:
  The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the
     little shoes they wore
  Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the
     thumb-marks on the door.

  Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’
     sit an’ sigh
  An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know
     that Death is nigh;
  An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s
     angel come,
  An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave
     her sweet voice dumb.
  Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’
     when yer tears are dried,
  Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’
     sanctified;
  An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant
     memories
  O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape
     from these.

  Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got
     t’ romp an’ play,
  An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em
     each day;
  Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom
     year by year
  Afore they ‘come a part o’ ye, suggestin’
     someone dear
  Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em
     jes t’ run
  The way they do, so’s they would get the early
     mornin’ sun;
  Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from
     cellar up t’ dome:
  It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it
     home.

< < < At Sugar Camp
The Path That Leads To Home > > >

American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’

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