The Home

"Home" says the sweet voice, and warm Comfort rises, Holding my soul with velvet-fingered hands; Comfort of leafy lair and lapping fur, Soft couches, cushions, curtains, and the stir Of easy pleasures that the body prizes, Of soft, swift feet to serve the least commands. I shrink—half rise—and then it murmurs "Duty!" Again the past rolls out—a scroll unfurled; Allegiance and long labor due my lord Allegiance in an idleness abhorred— I am the squaw—the slave—the harem beauty— I serve and serve, the handmaid of the world. My soul rebels—but hark! a new note thrilling, Deep, deep, past finding—I protest no more; The voice says "Love!" and all those ages dim Stand glorified and justified in him; I bow—I kneel—the woman soul is willing— "Love is the law. Be still! Obey! Adore!" And then—ah, then! The deep voice murmurs "Mother!" And all life answers from the primal sea; A mingling of all lullabies; a peace That asks no understanding; the release Of nature's holiest power—who seeks another? Home? Home is Mother—Mother, Home—to me. "Home!" says the deep voice; "Home and Easy Pleasure! Safety and Comfort, Laws of Life well kept!