Classic Poem

The City lights are fair to see,
And seem to twinkle merrily,
To tell of joyous bits of life
Amid the turmoil and the strife.
Like myriad stars they flash and gleam,
A never-ending golden stream,
And yet for all their mellow glow
They cannot gild the City's woe.

The beacon lights upon the shore
Shine brightly all the waters o'er,
And guide the sailor on the sea
Into the port where he would be.
Yet as they flash across the night,
Despite their gleaming, golden bright,
They call me not, but bid me veer
My course from dangers lurking near!

The stars of Heaven brightly shine
Athwart the blue, so vast, divine,
And whisper of great mysteries
In realms man's vision never sees.
They stir the soul, and yet I find
No messages of any kind
That lodgment win within the heart,
So far are they and I apart!

But there's a light on yonder hill
That killeth care, and driveth ill,
And haunting fear, whate'er it be,
Forth from this human heart of me—
The light seen through the window-pane
That welcomes me back home again,
Where there is one who bids me share
The joys of love abiding there!

Ah, Light of Home! When day is done,
And the rest hour hath begun,
Of all the lights of land or sea
Thou art the fairest light to me!
Dim tho' thou art, still is thy gold
The richest treasure life doth hold—
It glorifies the blackest zone,
And bids the heart come to its own!