The Old Home

Its head is bowed, its steps are slow
Its hair as white as the driven snow
It now has time and time to spare
To reflect o'er its life since its childhood fair

It once as you not long ago
Climbed the highest trees with eyes aglow
Over the field with laughter and song
Its limbs then fleet did race it along

The home of its soul was then new and trim
'Tis an old home now that must tumble in
And the one who lives in this dwelling so old
Must go and leave this home of its soul

For this home of the soul has done its best
It its worn-out body stood the test
So that when the old dwelling is laying low
The living soul shall smile to know

That its home has gone down with plodding along
Not running to beat through paths of wrong
For what is a thousand, five or ten
To the nobler ruins of a sparkling gem.