'/>;is 
 
Class IL-^_^5A/_ 
 
 Knnlc.Ff (£' 
 
 5^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
OH ERIN MY HOME 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 By FLORENCE KELLETT 
 
 PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS • SAN FRANCISCO 
 
j c? I r 
 
 COPYRIGHT. 1916 
 
 By FLORENCE KELLETT 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 Entered at StationetB' Hall, London 
 
 «e. 
 
 ©CI.A4:31887 
 
 JUL 17 1916 
 
:^ TO 
 
 LOVERS OF IRELAND 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ireland 3 
 
 Oh Erin, My Home 4 
 
 To the Land of the Harp 6 
 
 An Irish Immigrant 8 
 
 There's a Grave in the Green Sod lo 
 
 I Dreamt and in My Dreams I2 
 
 My Cabin Home 14 
 
OH ERIN MY HOME 
 
IRELAND 
 
 Dew washed and sun kissed, 
 Out of the blue and the gray mist, 
 Vision of beauty and rest. 
 Shining afar in the West. 
 Gently the clouds float by 
 Waking the sleeping sky. 
 Bathing the hill and glade 
 In light of every shade. 
 
 Green land of hope and endeavor 
 Whose people are children forever, 
 Held by its sway they glide 
 Ever a long life's tide, 
 Far from life's crowded way 
 Dreaming they live today, 
 Free in their own wild home 
 Washed by the sea's white foam. 
 
 Island so loved by all. 
 Who hear its mystic call. 
 Enchantment dwells in every bower. 
 In tree and leaf and wayside flower. 
 All hail to thee! whose magic spell 
 Is felt in woodland dale and dell. 
 Oh wondrous land! Oh land of rest! 
 A green light shining in the West. 
 
 3] 
 
OH ERIN, MY HOME 
 
 Oh Erin, my home, 
 I am coming to thee. 
 Across desert and mountain 
 And river and sea. 
 
 To the dear Httle cabin 
 The place I was born 
 Mid the wave of the rye 
 And the gleam of the corn. 
 
 Near the wild rugged mountain, 
 Where the heather grows free, 
 And the wild rose unfettered 
 Creeps down to the sea. 
 
 Oh land of the gray mist. 
 Of sunshine and rain. 
 In thy rapturous beauty 
 I see thee again. 
 
 Oh, the breath of the bog land. 
 And the smell of the peat. 
 And the flowers all gleaming 
 Like stars at my feet. 
 
 [4] 
 
Soon, soon, I'll be with you. 
 Then, never to part, 
 I shall dream my last dream 
 In the land of my heart. 
 
 What a home for a wanderer 
 When the storms are past, 
 In the green isle of Erin 
 There'll be rest at the last. 
 
 [51 
 
TO THE LAND OF THE HARP 
 
 Though my hair, it is white, 
 And my step, it is slow, 
 Yet back to the land 
 Of my birth I will go. 
 
 Though broken in life 
 Like surf on the sea. 
 Though tossed by the torrents 
 And tempests that be. 
 
 Yet I know I shall stand 
 
 Again on the shore, 
 
 Of the land of the harp 
 
 And the shamrock, once more. 
 
 Back, back to my cabin 
 So long I have left, 
 That it seems but a ruin 
 So lone and bereft. 
 
 Soon, soon what a 
 Glorified home it will be; 
 What a haven of rest 
 For a wanderer like me. 
 
 [6 
 
And though my time now 
 Grows shorter each day 
 Fain, fain, would I linger 
 Fain, fain, would I stay. 
 
 Just to see but a springtime 
 And autumn once more. 
 Amid the green hills 
 Of the land I adore. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Oh, I hear a voice calling 
 Far over the sea. 
 And I answer, " I am coming, 
 Dear Erin, to thee. " 
 
 F7] 
 
AN IRISH IMMIGRANT 
 
 I am lonely in the twilight, 
 I am lonely in the morn, 
 I am thinking of the gray mist 
 Of the town where I was born. 
 
 Oh, that Httle Irish village! 
 Oh, the smiles that greeted me! 
 Oh, those true hearts fondly beating! 
 Happiness it was to see. 
 
 How I long again to meet them 
 Just once more before I go 
 To that land where I shall meet them, 
 I am nearing it, I know. 
 
 How I long to see the mountains. 
 And the rivers rushing by, 
 And the quiet, peaceful valleys. 
 Just once more before I die. 
 
 Oh, the little straw thatched cabin 
 In the bend behind the hill, 
 Is it ruined and forgotten 
 Or can it be standing still? 
 
 [8] 
 
Never more again I'll see it, 
 Where I spent my childhood days, 
 Wandering by the pleasant river 
 And the tangled woody ways. 
 
 Oh, the scent of bog and heather 
 And the lichen fresh and green, 
 Oh, the sense of rest and freedom, 
 In the woodland air so keen. 
 
 Old and tired, bent and worn. 
 In another land I'll lie 
 But I'll still remember Ireland 
 Where I wish that I could die. 
 
 •X- * * 
 
 May its bells of freedom pealing 
 Wake me where I lie at rest. 
 And its flag once more be floating. 
 Flashing green lights in the West. 
 
 9l 
 
THERE'S A GRAVE IN THE 
 GREEN SOD 
 
 I have a message for you 
 From a land beyond the sea, 
 From the home of the little shamrock, 
 The country of the free. 
 
 From the land of your sire 
 Where your fathers lie at rest. 
 From that green, green little island, 
 The Emerald of the West. 
 
 Oh balmy are its breezes 
 And gently do they blow. 
 And many are the flowers 
 That in its woodlands grow. 
 
 No land on earth can ever 
 Be fairer in your eyes; 
 Think of its glorious sunsets 
 And of its morning skies. 
 
 Think of the gray blue mountains 
 And of the wandering streams. 
 Oh! only shall such beauty 
 Return to you in dreams. 
 
 lo] 
 
Oh Ireland recalls, 
 
 The sons who left her shore, 
 
 Who went away in sadness 
 
 To come back to her once more. 
 
 Oh children of the green sod, 
 Of the Celtic ancient race. 
 Remember in your native land 
 There is for you a place. 
 
 A place with peace and honor 
 She will give you with the best, 
 A quiet, peaceful, sheltered place 
 Wherein your soul can rest. 
 
 [Ill 
 
I DREAMT AND IN MY DREAMS 
 
 I dreamt, and in my dreams I heard 
 Sweet music faint and low, 
 It was a song of Ireland, 
 A song of long ago. 
 
 I saw once more my dear old home 
 With its gables and its towers, 
 The dear old fashioned garden 
 With all its brilliant flowers. 
 
 Once more I heard the church bells ring 
 Through the quiet evening air. 
 Once more I sang the vesper hymn, 
 Once more I knelt at prayer. 
 
 And then I saw the harvest moon 
 Shed forth its lustrous light 
 Upon the fields of yellow corn. 
 It was a glorious sight. 
 
 Then in the early dawn 
 I walked beside the silent stream, 
 I saw the blue forget-me-not 
 And picked it in my dream. 
 
 [I2l 
 
I saw the mountains and the hills 
 The woodland and the lea, 
 And memories of bygone days 
 Came rushing over me. 
 
 For Ireland and for freedom 
 I felt my pulses glow, 
 I saw the patriots of old 
 Go forth to meet the foe. 
 
 And when I saw the green flag 
 That fluttered in the air, 
 I prayed that God would bless it 
 And that God would hear my prayer. 
 
 Oh Ireland forever 
 Thou art graven on my heart. 
 No dream can make thee sweeter 
 Or fairer than thou art. 
 
 [13] 
 
MY CABIN HOME 
 
 I have a little cabin 
 That is everything to me — 
 Behind it, is a mountain 
 Before it, is the sea. 
 
 Around it is the wildness 
 Of the Island of the West, 
 It is the only home I know, 
 The only place of rest. 
 
 As I linger in the doorway 
 To see the setting sun, 
 My fireside it calls to me 
 After the day is done. 
 
 Oh, dear, dear is my cabin 
 Beyond all earthly worth, 
 I would not, could not, change it now 
 For anything on earth. 
 
 And I have traveled far and wide 
 O'er many and many a sea 
 But nothing now shall ever take 
 My cabin home from me. 
 
 God bless the hills of Ireland, 
 
 God bless its heart so true, 
 
 God give me strength and grace to live, 
 
 For many a year with you! 
 
 14] 
 
HERE ENDS "OH ERIN, MY HOME, AND 
 OTHER VERSE" BY F. KELLETT. DONE 
 INTO BOOK FORM BY PAUL ELDER AND 
 COMPANY AND PRINTED AT THEIR 
 TOMOYE PRESS UNDER THE DIREC- 
 TION OF HERMAN A. FUNKE IN THE 
 CITY OF SAN FRANCISCO DURING THE 
 MONTH OF MAY, NINETEEN 
 HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 015 908 683 5 '0 
 
 
 
 
 Pi 
 
 lv