The Antique Home
One taller, on the floor,
Depending on the patterns then
One hundred years or more!
The dishes, marked by tripods, now
Show they were served with care,
Those patterns of the long ago,
How precious now and rare!
The Settle now has guests again;
The fireplace glows with red;
The doughbox, covered, standing near,
Once held tomorrow's bread!
The spinning wheel clicked as it made
Another skein complete;
The drop leaf table's wooden hinge
Swings level on its feet.
The tiny Betty Lamp, that burned
Just grease to make the light
That great-great-great-grandmother used
When she bade all "Good night,"
Could tell a story of the days
When Washington was here,
If it could only whisper now
With bedtime drawing near!
The hooked rug shows an old farm scene
Of seventeen seventy-nine;
The corner cupboards--cherry wood,
Or walnut, maybe pine.
The kettle once again now swings
Above the fires that glow
How many hungry, it once fed
Long years, long years ago.
The tables, kitchen dressers, sinks
And footstools and the stand
And cupboards, held by wooden pegs--
And blotters filled with sand
The cradle, pride of many homes,
That many mothers rocked
The stories now no one can tell
The passing years have blocked.
Oh, lovers of the antiques, here
Think of the minds that led,
Who stole long hours from sleep, to toil;
In daylight earned the bread
Their love for mothers, brides and babes
Who brighten home and hearth,
Urged silently the artist's skill
Who brought Love's dreams to earth!
(Spring Hill, Kansas: New Era Publishing Co. 1939)