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August 29, 2012


It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes
have t' roam Afore ye really 'predate the things ye lef
An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em alius
on yer mind. It don't make any differunce how rich ye get
t' be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yerluxury;
It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.
Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up
in a minute; Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin'
in it;
Within the walls there's got t' be some babies
born, and then Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women
good, an' men; And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye
wouldn't part

With anything they ever used — they've grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumbmarks on the door.
Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t'
sit an' sigh Air watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know
that Death is nigh; An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's
angel come, An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave
her sweet voice dumb. Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an!
when yer tears are dried, Ye find the home is dearer than it was, au'
sanctified; An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant
memories O' her that was an' is no more — ye can't escape
from these.
Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got
t' romp an' play, An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em
each day; Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom
year by year

Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin'
someone dear Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em
jes' t' run The way they do, so's they would get the early
mornin' sun; Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from
cellar up t' dome: It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home.
-Edgar Guest

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