Voices of the Old, Old Days.

OH, voices of the old, old days,

Speak once again to me,

I walk alone the old, old ways

And miss your melody.

To-night I close my tired eyes

And hear the rain drip slow,

And dream a hand is on my brow

That pressed it long ago.

My thoughts stray through the lonely night

Until I seem to see

Home faces, in the firelight,

That always smiled on me.

Those shadows dancing on the walls

Are not by embers cast,

They are the forms my heart recalls

From out the happy past.

Forgotten is the gathering gloom,

The night's deep loneliness,

As round me in the silent room

With noiseless tread they press.

Though in the dark the rain sobs on,

I heed its sound no more;

For voices of the old, old days

Are calling as of yore.