To Amy Wainwright This is the time the boys come home from school, Filling the house with gay and happy noise, Never at rest from morn till evening cool -- All the roads of the world bring home the boys. This is the time -- but still they are not come; The mothers stand in the doorway listening long; Long, long they shall wait ere the boys come home. Where do they tarry, the dear, the light-heart throng? Their feet are heavy as lead and deep their rest. The mothers watch the road till set of sun; But nevermore the birds fly back to the nest. The roads of the world run Heavenward every one.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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