The Hamlett-Smith House

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The Hamlett-Smith House

It takes a heap of livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun and shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam
More ye really ‘ppreciate the things ye lef behind,
An' hunger for ‘em somehow, with ‘em allus on your mind.
It don't make any difference how rich you get to be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury;
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;
More 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 to 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 wor
Ye heard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumbmarks on the door.

Ye've got t' weep t' make it home. Ye've got to sit and sigh
And watch besides a loved one's bed and 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, and leave her sweet voice dumb
For these are scenes that grip the heart, an'when yer tears are dried
Ye find that Home is dearer than it was an' Sanctified;
An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories
O' her that was and is no more--ye can't escape from these.

Ye've got to sing and dance fer years, ye've got to romp an' play,
An' learn t' love the things ye have by using ‘em each day;
Even the roses round the porch must blossom year by year
More they ‘comes a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear
Who used to love ‘em long ago, and trained ‘em just t' run
The way they do, so's they would get the early morning 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.