'T IS not my home — he made it home
With earnest love and care;
How can it be my own dear home,
And he no longer there?

I asked to meet my father's eyes,
But they were closed for me;
My father, would that I were laid
In the dark grave with thee.

Where shall I look for constant love,
To answer unto mine?
Others have many kindred hearts,
But I had only thine.