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Edgar Guest - Back Home
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GLAD to be back home again,
Where abide the friendly men;
Glad to see the same old scenes
And the little house that means
All the joys the soul has treasured—
Glad to be where smiles aren`t measured,
Where I`ve blended with the gladness
All the heart has known of sadness,
Where some long-familiar steeple
Marks my town of friendly people.

Though it`s fun to go a-straying
Where the bands are nightly playing
And the throngs of men and women
Drain the cup of pleasure brimmin`,
I am glad when it is over
That I`ve ceased to play the Rover.
And when once the train starts chugging
Towards the children I`ll be hugging,
All my thoughts and dreams are set there;
Fast enough I cannot get there.

Guess I wasn`t meant for bright lights,
For the blaze of red and white lights,
For the throngs that seem to smother
In their selfishness, each other;
For whenever I`ve been down there,
Tramped the noisy, blatant town there,
Always in a week I`ve started
Yearning, hungering, heavy-hearted,
For the home town and its spaces
Lit by fine and friendly faces.

Like to be where men about me
Do not look on me to doubt me;
Where I know the men and women,
Know why tears some eyes are dimmin`,
Know the good folks an` the bad folks
An` the glad folks an` the sad folks;
Where we live with one another,
Meanin` something to each other.
An` I`m glad to see the steeple,
Where the crowds aren`t merely people.
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