Classic Poem

Out 'mid the din of earth,
And the jarring notes of men,
Where commerce rules in the busy mart,
And wieldeth her wizard pen.
'Tis a dusty road—but our joyous tread
Brings music out we ween;
For there—ah there—how it gleams ahead—
The light of the hearth is seen.

Out 'mid the sons of toil,
Till the sunset hour is near;
Our heart is bold and our nerve is strong,
For we work for the loved and dear.
And the cottage door shall be open'd wide,
By the wife and child we ween;
When the plane and hammer are laid aside,
And the light of the hearth is seen.

Our fireside bless'd—there's a spell
Which holds our spirits there;
And how like the chime of a vesper bell
Goes upward the evening prayer.
Earth! art thou not but a sandy waste,
Without that patch of green,
Where Love sits empress of every heart,
As the light of the hearth is seen?