Saturday, September 13, 2014

Home, by Edgar Guest.

    It takes a heap o living in a house to make a 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.

    We are home.  Of course this is where our heart is.

    Thanks for letting me share one of my favorites with you.

    Nite shipslog


    Rick over at ‘life101’ mentioned one of his teachers the other day. When I read this I think of Mrs. Mellissa Grill, 7th Grade in the little mountain school at Valdese, NC  SHE was a teacher.




    This car was new when I first met Mrs. Grill.


Paula said...

Like this entry very much. I have some teachers who stand out in my mind but then I guess every one does. Like all those old houses that were home to someone at one time.


LOVE the poem. Very nice indeed. Conveys the concept of home.

shirl72 said...

No matter where you roam there
is no place like home.

I can see Miss Grill in my mind. I
remember what she looked like.
Mrs. Lambert 8th grade teacher is the one I remember. The boys gave her a hard time. It was raining one day the boys had taken her umbrella and put it in her car.
At the end of the day it was still
raining and she didn't have her
umbrella because it was in her car. BAD BAD Boys.

betty said...

That's why that saying is so popular "there's no place like home" because there truly is no place like home (that's why our heavenly home will truly be home :)

Great poem, had not read it before!


Rick Watson said...

That's a great poem Jack. Thanks for the shout out at the end.
It's interesting you wrote about this topic.
I too have been thinking about what makes a home.
Just this morning as I drank coffee on the deck, a cool September breeze made the leaves of our citrus trees dance.
I thought about this place we call home and though it's not fancy by most standards, it fits us. It's known sadness, but it's also witnessed pure joy.
I love traveling, but I also love this place we call home.

I'm mostly known as 'MA' said...

I love the poem too ! It says it all and home is where my heart is too. Glad you all are home.

Rose said...

Love this Post.

So true, your home is where your heart is. Loved all the photos. Good job.

Hugs to my favorite couple

Elizabeth said...

Love the poem and the old houses!

Chatty Crone said...

I don't think had heard that song before but I know what you mean by a good teacher - some you will remember forever, and I agree it is nice to travel, but there is no place like home. Sandie