The House of Stone - A poem by Colfax Burgoyne Harman

The House of Stone.

'Tis a Sabbath morn in a country town.
A bright November sun smiles down
On the leafless wood and the frost-brown hill.
There is ice on the brook close by the town,
And the air is crisp and the morn is chill.

See yonder house of rugged stone.
How tall, sepulchral, dreary, lone!
No trees stand near. The ground is bare,
Save worthless weeds on a lawn unmown.
A sorrow stricken soul dwells there.

For years her life was bright as May,
With her husband by her side each day,
To place her hope and trust upon;
But death has called her love away,
And now her happiness is gone.

Oh you who have your loved ones near,
Fail not to prize that boon so dear,
Make a haven of your home.
Do all you can to aid and cheer,
For death to you and yours will come.

^__Colfax Burgoyne Harman

Poems Of Sentiment
Colfax Burgoyne Harman
(Valley Falls, Kansas: Harman Publishing. 1905)
Page 285