Wheresoever there are trails and trees,
Grassy meadows, flowers, birds and streams
And mountains and a friend to walk beside—
There is home.
Where there is a charming country cottage,
Nestled off the beaten path, and nookish,
With window seats and rows of books, and music,
And a swinging gate the wardrobe door
Betwixt the haven and the larger world—
There is bliss.
Insomuch as there is one to take
My hand despite my constant littleness
Of heart, and, by his, teach mine to expand—
There is love.
Insofar as there are smaller ones
Who reach for me to comfort and protect
Regardless of my inexperience,
Who never cease to give me one more chance
Although I often fall so very short—
There is joy.
Insasmuch as there is One to take
My other hand and grant me happiness
In life and never lose His hold although
The winds of bitterness sometimes blow strong,
But see me through the biting and the sweet—
There is peace.