Voice of encouragement at break of day: “Pickup your pack, O Pilgrim, and away!” This doth the voice of Home each new dawn say.
Those who go daily forth are blessed by her, feeling their spirits rise, their pulses stir, for Home is both a magnet and a spur.
She sends us forth each morn with strength to fight, yet draws us to her loving arms at night. O Home! thou art the temple of delight.
Thou art the very heart of beauteous life, a fortress armed against invading strife, love’s citadel for children, husband, wife.
Thou art a garden, fragrant, peaceful and fair, wherein grow blossoms, humble ones and rare, ideals, hopes and dreams all flourish there.
And when the sun is sinking in the west thou art a voice that bids us take our rest against they loving understanding breast.
This is a page from “Homespun” by Wilhelmina Stitch, an old book I found in my mother’s bookshelf, Third Edition, printed in 1933 in Great Britain.
