There's many a house of grandeur, With turret, tower and dome, That knows not peace or comfort, And does not prove a home. I do not ask for splendor To crown my daily lot, But this I ask—a kitchen Where the kettle's always hot.

With turret, tower and dome,

And does not prove a home.

To crown my daily lot,

Where the kettle's always hot.

If things are not all ship-shape, I do not fume or fret, A little clean disorder Does not my nerves upset. But one thing is essential, Or seems so to my thought, And that's a tidy kitchen Where the kettle's always hot.

I do not fume or fret,

Does not my nerves upset.

Or seems so to my thought,

Where the kettle's always hot.

In my Aunt Hattie's household, Though skies outside are drear, Though times are dark and troubled, You'll always find good cheer. And in her quaint old kitchen— The very homiest spot— The kettle's always singing, The water's always hot.

Though skies outside are drear,

You'll always find good cheer.

The very homiest spot—

The water's always hot.

And if you have a headache, Whate'er the hour may be, There is no tedious waiting To get your cup of tea. I don't know how she does it— Some magic she has caught— For the kitchen's cool in summer, Yet the kettle's always hot.

Whate'er the hour may be,

To get your cup of tea.

Some magic she has caught—

Yet the kettle's always hot.

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