I Wait for Thee

I Wait for Thee

The heart is swept—the fire is bright,

The kettle sings for tea;

The cloth is spread, the lamp is light,
The muffins smoke in napkins white,

And now I wait for thee.

Come home, love, come; thy task is done;

The clock ticks listeningly;

The blinds are shut, the curtain down,
The arm-chair to the fire-side drawn,

The boy is on my knee.

Come home, love, come; his deep, fond eye

Looks round him wistfully;

And when the whispering winds go by,
As if thy welcome steps were nigh,

He crows exultingly.

In vain; he finds the welcome vain,

And turns his glance on mine,

So earnestly, that yet again
His form unto my heart I strain,

That glance is so like thine.

Thy task is done; we miss thee here,

Where'er thy footsteps roam,

No heart will spend such kindly cheer,
No beating heart, no listening ear,

Like those who wait thee home.

Ah, now along the crisp walk fast,

That well-known step doth come;

The bolt is drawn, the gate is past,
The boy is wild with joy at last,

A thousand welcomes home.

Unattributed

1:15, p. 1

10.29.1859