• Author: Unknown
• Editor:
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume V
• Page Number:
• Date: 7 24 1918
• Tags:
• poetry
• patriotism
• mothers

WHEN WE COME HOME

When I come home, O mother dear, I would that no one else be near; For I would be the boy again, And have you comfort me—as then. I’d have my bowl of milk-and-bread, And see white sheets, and pillows spread, Whereon to lay my weary head: And ’neath the counterpane I’d creep, And have you kiss me, ere I’d sleep. To know ourselves no more alone, Is our reward, when we come home.

When I come home, to you, my wife; 'Twill be as to a newer life: With all the past forgotten, dead, And we as lovers, newly wed. And I shall do the thing you’d ask, Take up with you the daily task; Happy in your love to bask. And walk with you a-down the years, The while the Happy Ending nears. For grief, and shame that we have known, There will be you, when we come home.

When I come home, sweetheart o’ mine, To greet you, as in olden time At golden gate: how I shall thrill, To see you waiting, as you will. Then half intoxicated with bliss, Of being freed of such as this, Stoop, from your lips to steal one kiss, Then proclaim a Happy Day, That should never pass away. That weary years we wait along, There’s recompense, when we come home.