I know not what the reason is: Where'er I dwell or roam, I make a pilgrimage each year, To my old childhood home. Have nothing there to give or get-- No legacy, no gold-- Yet by some home-attracting power I'm evermore controlled; This is the way the homesick do, I often have been told. * * * * * As nearer to the spot I come More sweetly am I drawn; And something in my heart begins To urge me faster on. Ere quite I've reached the last hilltop-- You'll smile at me, I ween!-- I stretch myself high as I can, To catch the view serene-- The dear old stone house through the trees With shutters painted green! * * * * * How do I love those poplar trees; What tall and stalely things! See! on the top of one just now A starling sits and sings. He'll fall!--the twig bends with his weight! He likes that danger best. I see the red upon his wings,-- Dark shining is the rest. I ween his little wife has built On that same tree her nest. * * * * * See! really I am near the house; How short the distance seems! There is no sense of time when one Goes musing in his dreams. There is the shop--the corn-crib, too-- The cider-press--just see! The barn--the spring with drinking cup Hung up against the tree. The yard-fence--and the little gate Just where it used to be. * * * * * Two spots on this old friendly porch I love, nor can forget, Till dimly in the night of death My life's last sun shall set! When first I left my father's house, One summer morning bright, My mother at that railing wept Till I was out of sight! Now like a holy star that spot Shines in this world's dull night. * * * * * What draws my eye to yonder spot-- That bench against the wall? What holy mem'ries cluster there, My heart still knows them all! How often sat my father there On summer afternoon; Hands meekly crossed upon his lap, He looked so lost and lone, As if he saw an empty world, And hoped to leave it soon. At the conclusion of his recital, Mary heartily thanked the Professor, and, at his request, obediently seated herself at the old, but still sweet-toned cottage organ, and expressed her willingness to play any old-time songs or hymns requested, and saying, "I know Aunt Sarah's favorite," commenced playing, "My Latest Sun is Sinking Fast," followed by "This Old-Time Religion," "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," "One of the Sweet Old Chapters," "Silver Threads Among the Gold" and the sweet old hymn, "In the Summer Land of Song," by Fanny Crosby.