{7}

IN THE FIRELIGHT.

No light save the flick’ring fire flames,

As they dance and purr in the gloom,

Leaping and casting weird shadows

That illumine the quaint old room,

Outside the wind whistles and moans

Through the shutters and leafless trees,

But signals of comfort and warmth

Flash a greeting o’er storm and breeze.

So the wayfarer homeward bound,

As he nears the old home once more,

Sees a picture he’ll ne’er forget,

As he stands by the open door,

For there circled ’round as they sit

In the glow of the flick’ring flames,

How their faces light up with joy

As he speaks the familiar names.

{8}

{8}

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