We must get home, where, as we nod and drowse, Time humors us and tiptoes through the house, And loves us best when sleeping baby-wise, With dreams--not tear-drops--brimming our clenched eyes,-- Pure dreams that know nor taint nor earthly stain-- We must get home--we must get home again! We must get home; and, unremembering there All gain of all ambitions otherwhere, Rest--from the feverish victory, and the crown Of conquest whose waste glory weighs us down.-- Fame's fairest gifts we toss back with disdain-- We must get home--we must get home again! HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM. Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time come on-- And then, I want to say to you, we _needed_ he'p about, As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops turned out! A better quarter-section, ner a richer soil warn't found Than this-here old-home place o' ourn fer fifty miles around!-- The house was small--but plenty-big we found it from the day That John--our only livin' son--packed up and went way. You see, we tuck sich pride in John--his mother more 'n me-- That's natchurul; but _both_ of us was proud as proud could be; Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon bright, And seemed in work as well as play to take the same delight. He allus went a-whistlin' round the place, as glad at heart As robins up at five o'clock to git an airly start; And many a time 'fore daylight Mother's waked me up to say-- "Jest listen, David!--listen!--Johnny's beat the birds to-day!" High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin' turn,-- He wanted to learn ever'thing on earth they was to learn: He'd ast more plaguey questions in a mortal-minute here Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a year! And read! w'y, his own mother learnt him how to read and spell; And "The Childern of the Abbey"--w'y, he knowed that book as well At fifteen as his parents!--and "The Pilgrim's Progress," too-- Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read 'em through and through! At eighteen, Mother 'lowed the boy must have a better chance-- That we ort to educate him, under any circumstance; And John he j'ined his mother, and they ding-donged and kep' on, Tel I sent him off to school in town, half glad that he was gone. But--I missed him--w'y of course I did!--The Fall and Winter through I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two, Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gambrel-pin, But what I thought o' John, and wished that he was home agin. He'd come, sometimes--on Sund'ys most--and stay the Sund'y out; And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be about: But a change was workin' on him--he was stiller than before, And did n't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any more.