So blest are they who round a family board
May gather: — May they humbly thank the Lord,
Not only for the food they common share,
But for the dear, loved faces circled there:
So oft, unless we face that board alone,
We treasure not its true, sweet sense of home.
So blest are they when low the pale stars ride, —
If cheer, and warmth, and welcome safe abide
Within their shelter. Patient they would grow, —
Kinder, — more understanding, — could they know
How empty is the house where no glad light
Shines from its windows, out upon the night.
So blest are they who have within their home
That touch of kinship, – folks they call their own, –
Flesh of their flesh: Ah, how they’d earnest strive
To ease small tensions, keeping love alive,
If once they knew the desolate despair
That haunts the house with no one waiting there.
by Donna R. Lydston