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Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Childhood's
happy home, and other verses
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: Childhood's happy home, and other verses

Author: Lemuel Kayhart

Release date: December 20, 2023 [eBook #72456]

Language: English

Original publication: East Orange: The Abby Printshop, 1921

Credits: Richard Tonsing, Charlene Taylor, and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK

CHILDHOOD'S HAPPY HOME, AND OTHER VERSES ***
Transcriber’s Note:
New original cover art included with this eBook is
granted to the public domain.
Childhood’s

Happy Home

AND

OTHER VERSES

LEMUEL KAYHART
 Copyright, 1921
By LEMUEL KAYHART
 CHILDHOOD’S HAPPY HOME

LEMUEL KAYHART
Oh home, sweet home, my childhood’s home,
To thee my heart holds near,
No other place in this wide world,
To me, is half so dear.

When daisies decked the green clad fields,

And fragrance filled the air,
I loved to roam the shady dell,
And never dreamed of care!

And when I’d lay my weary head

On mother’s loving breast,
No mortal danger could I fear,
While there I’d calmly rest.

And when the twilight hours came,

The stars began to peep,—
She’d take me to my little couch
And lay me down to sleep.

And in the morning, when I’d wake,

Oh what heavenly bliss!
She’d take me in her loving arms,
And greet me with a kiss.

But now old age is coming on,

These locks are turning gray,—
Like millions passed and gone, I feel
I’m passing fast away.

Oh that I were a child again

To lean on mother’s breast;
Free from trouble, care and strife
 This weary form might rest.

When earth and friends I bid adieu,

Yon golden streets to roam,—
I may forget,—but not till then,
MY CHILDHOOD’S HAPPY HOME!
 GENESIS ANALYZED

LEMUEL KAYHART
’Twas man who first came on the earth,
Without a sin or shame;
He knew nothing but joy and mirth,
And Adam was his name.

In Eden’s garden he was placed,

And lovely were the scenes;
All fitted up with God’s own taste,
Among the evergreens.

How happy then he must have been,

From toil and labor free;
From sickness, sorrow, death and sin,—
In Nature’s charming glee!

In God’s own image he was made,

Without a single care;
He never used a hoe nor spade,
’Till woman was put there.

’Twas woman first broke God’s command,

Then tempted man to sin;
’Twas her first brought shame in the land,
And raised this awful din.

Through woman, Christ with grief did mourn,

For her He bled and died;
For her He wore a crown of thorns,
Was hung and crucified.

If Adam had reserved his bone,

’Tis true he’d had no wife;
’Tis better far to live alone,
 Than live in war and strife.

But now, you know, since Adam’s time,

That things are all made new,—
And now to end my little rhyme,
I’ll call her Kind and True!
 THE GREEN SHADY WOODS

LEMUEL KAYHART
Oh! give me the place where
I roamed when a child,
Where beauty and nature
Enchantingly smiled;
Where at twilight we heard
The sweet whippoorwill,
In the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

’Twas there in my childhood

I rambled with glee;
’Twas there in my youth that
I longed so to be;
The place that I loved, with
A hearty good will,
Was the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

I’d go in the morning,

So happy and free,
And linger till twilight
Approaching I’d see;
With brothers, and sisters,
I played with a will,
In the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

Where the songs of the birds

Re-echo and die;
Where the cool, fresh breezes
So playfully sigh;
Where we listened with joy,
To the rippling rill,
In the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

And there to that clear, cool,

Crystal spring we’d go,
And down on our knees to
Its fountain bow low,
Like the waters of life
Our souls it would thrill,
In the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

I’ve roamed over landscapes,

Through country and town,
I’ve wandered through cities
The streets up and down;
But no place do I find,
Though quiet and still,
Like the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

Oh! give me the place where

I wantonly strayed;
Where in hot summer days
My weary head laid;
Oh! give me the place where
All’s quiet and still,
In the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

And this be my wish,

In my last fleeting breath,
When this mortal body
Is stricken in death:—
Oh! lay me ’neath the turf,
All quiet and still,
In the green shady woods
On the slope of the hill.

And there though my body

Lies wrapped in green sod,
My spirit will go
To the keeping of God;
Till Gabriel’s last trumpet
Shall blow loud and shrill,
May I sleep ’neath the woods
On the slope of the hill.
 TOAST[1]

LEMUEL KAYHART
Here’s to the ladies, more precious than gold,
Here’s to the modest and likewise the bold,
Here’s to the aged, old grandmother, dear,
Here’s to the maid who’s old and grown queer.

Here’s to the maiden who’s happy and gay,

Here’s to the girl who will dance night and day,
Here’s to the maid with a bosom of ice,
Here’s to the girl who will kiss a man twice.

Here’s to the brunette, the freckled and fair,

Here’s to the blonde with blue eyes and white hair,
Here’s to the maid with complexion like snow,
Here’s to old Dinah as black as a crow.

Here’s to the lady and here’s to the lass,

Here’s to the lady who’s greener than grass,
Here’s to the sweetheart, and here’s to the beau,
Here’s to the lad who can reap, plough or sow.

Here’s to the maiden who’s rosy and fat,

Here’s to the miser, more like a starved cat,
Here’s to the lean, stout, long, slim and tall,
God bless their dear hearts, we’ll toast to them all.

Here’s to the maiden who’s dimples we prize,

Here’s to the girl with a pair of black eyes,
Here’s to the housewife all cumbered with care,
Here’s to the girl with the bonny red hair.

Here’s to the servant and here’s to the king,

Here’s to the ladies that happiness bring,
Here’s to the dandy and here’s to the queen,
I’ll toast to you all, I’ll not go it mean.

Here’s to the aged and here’s to the young,

Here’s to the maid with a little short tongue,
Here’s to the gossip though feeble and frail,
Tongue on a swizel and long as a rail.

Here’s to the widow and here’s to the maid,

Here’s to the woman of work not afraid,
Here’s to the girl who can laugh, sing or sigh,
Here’s to the maid with false teeth and one eye.

Here’s to the lady who’s over-refined,

All banged in the head and bustle behind,
God bless them, we love them, they’re handsome and fair,
Even when made up with cotton and hair.

Here’s to the mother of one little boy,

Here’s to his papa who’s filled full of joy,
Here’s to the man who’s nary a son,
Here’s to the father of twenty and one.

Here’s to the babies, the sweet little dears,

Here’s to their parents who shed silent tears,
Here’s to the maid with a heart full of woe,
Here’s to the lass who can say yes or no.

Here’s to our cousins, our uncles and aunts,

Here’s to the boy with his first pair of pants,
Here’s to the youth whom many boys know,
Who looks in the glass to see his hair grow.

Here’s to the man, too honest to cheat,

Here’s to the butcher who sells us good meat,
May he live long and happy with plentiful store,
And when we’re all hungry, stop at our door.

Here’s to our parents, we speak it with cheer,

Of all of our kindred we love them most dear,
They nursed and they watched us in childhood and youth,
They guided our footsteps in justice and truth.

Here’s to the man without any wife,

May he soon take a partner to comfort his life,
Here’s to his children whenever they come,
They’ll make him more noise than Hessey’s big drum.
Here’s to the man with his millions of cash,
Here’s to the beggar who begs for his hash,
Here’s to the man who has plenty to give,
Here’s to the man who works hard to live.

Here’s to the doctor and here’s to the priest,

Here’s to the heathen far out in the east,
Here’s to the lawyer and here’s to the judge,
Here’s to the devil who owes them a grudge.

Here’s to the statesman who’s honest and true,

Here’s to the sheriff who hung old Guiteau,
Here’s to the Giant and Commodore Dot,
Here’s to the people whom I’ve forgot.

Here’s to the pilgrims—our father’s band,—

Who crossed the wide ocean to free us a land,
Here’s to their courage, the world it outstrips,
Here’s to the heroes of Seventy-six.

Here’s to the soldiers who battled the foe,

And death, death to treason as you all know,
Here’s to the sailors, those noble jack tars,
So nobly they fought for the stripes and the stars.

Here’s to the boys who fell in the strife,

To save us a nation each gave his own life;
Here’s to the sailors who bleach on the surf,
Here’s to the soldiers who sleep ’neath the turf.

Here’s to our Lincoln—although he is dead,

And calmly he rests in his green, mossy bed,—
His earthly career, although it is passed,
On history’s pages forever will last.

Here’s to our country, sweet land of the free,

Here’s to our nation’s great liberty tree,
Here’s to our banner to freedom unfurled,
Here’s to our eagle, king bird of the world.

Here’s to our Union, as firm as the hills,

Here’s to the rivers that turn the great mills,
Here’s to our mountains of silver and gold,
Our riches and power can never be told.

Here’s to our party—our friends with the rest,—

 And here’s to the people we each love best,
May we live in the future like lambs of one flock,
And all work together like the works of a clock.

And now I will stop, I’ve toasted to all,

Our country, our banner, the great and the small,
So now I will bid you a friendly adieu,
Three roaring cheers for the Red, White and Blue!

1. Spoken by Lemuel Kayhart at the twentieth wedding anniversary of Mr. and

Mrs. Lemuel Kayhart, on Monday, August 12, 1889, at Montville, N. J.
 BEYOND THE SKIES

LEMUEL KAYHART
There is a land beyond the skies,
Where joy and pleasure never dies;
A land from sin and sorrow free,
Oh! how I long that land to see.

I fain would leave this world of woe,

And to that happy land I’d go;
I’d bid adieu to earthly ties
And reign with Him beyond the skies.

Who made this world, the shining sun,

And bid the stars their courses run?
Who formed the land, who made the trees,
The mighty oceans and the seas?

Who reared the mountains crowned in green,

The winding rivers roll between;
And all that’s seen by human eyes,
And all beyond the bright blue skies?

Who scattered countless worlds through space

To onward plod their weary race,
Till God shall stand on sea and shore,
Declaring time shall be no more?

Oh! great Jehovah, faithful friend,

On Thee our fainting souls depend;
Guide us with unerring eye,
To realms of bliss beyond the sky.

Beautiful land, enchanted land,

Where angels to me beckoning stand,
To call me from this earth away
To reign with Christ in endless day.

By faith I see that happy land,

The vacant seat at Christ’s right hand;
The place that waits me till I rise
To reign with Him beyond the skies.

By faith those pearly gates I see,

Those gates stand open wide for me;
The angels there in waiting stand
To pass me to that happy land.

The dear ones in that happy land,

Methinks I see them hand in hand;
A sister and a darling boy,
And oh! it thrills my soul with joy—

To think of meeting them again,

Beyond this world of care and pain;
Glorious anthems there will rise,
When I get home beyond the skies.

Beautiful land, land of light,

The angels robed in pearly white;
My very soul within me sighs,
To gain that land beyond the skies.

No troubles there will mar our peace,

Our pleasures there will never cease;
No tears of grief will dim our eyes,
In that bright land beyond the skies.

Beautiful land with streets of gold,

Thy splendors half can ne’er be told;
When shall my soul to thee arise—
Jehovah’s throne beyond the skies.

This life is but a troubled dream;

When shall I cross cold Jordan’s stream?
Oh! hasten death, my soul replies,
To waft me home beyond the skies.