My lad I was so proud of, though often I was stern, Wilful was he, but ah, to-night for his presence I yearn.”
There’s a step on the walk outside, trembling hands at the door, And some one is kneeling by them, sobbing out o’er and o’er:
“Father, your prodigal has come, unworthy of your name, Broken in spirit, buffeted, baptised with bitter shame.
But say _forgiven_, and lay your hand on me in the old way; Pride kept me long from you, but I had to come home to-day.”
Such a welcome he got from them--the old love changeth not, Faithful to death, unswerving--miracles hath it wrought.
The father turned a glowing face, and whispered: Let us pray, My pride has kept me long from God, but I’ll go home to-day.
And then with the firelight shining, leaving his heavy load, A prodigal old and hoary came tremblingly back to God.
He knew the truth, deep as the sea, high as the heaven above, Knew that the Fatherhood of God was made and crowned with Love.
Quebec, the grey old city on the hill, Lies with a golden glory on her head, Dreaming throughout this hour so fair--so still-- Of other days and all her mighty dead. The white doves perch upon the cannons grim, The flowers bloom where once did run a tide Of crimson, when the moon rose pale and dim Above the battlefield so grim and wide. Methinks within her wakes a mighty glow Of pride, of tenderness--her stirring past-- The strife, the valor, of the long ago Feels at her heartstrings. Strong, and tall, and vast, She lies, touched with the sunsets golden grace, A wondrous softness on her grey old face.
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I like to hear the kettle sing At this time of the day, Such cheery thoughts it seems to bring, All worries flee away.
_Now spread your table cloth so white_, It tells me as I wait, _Come, bustle ’round, ’tis almost night-- The goodman’s at the gate._
Long time ago it heard John say Some foolish lover things, And do you know that to this day They’re in the song it sings.
It caught the gladness in my tone When baby Grace arrived, My pride when Jim first stood alone, My joy when Robbie thrived.
All this was such awhile ago, You’d think it would forget, But ah, the tune--I love it so-- It sings me sometimes yet.