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New Zealand Tablet, 30 July 1908, Page 37

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Wherever smoke wreaths Heavenward curl — Cave of a hermit, Hovel of churl — Mansion of merchant, princely dome—Out of the dreariness, Into its cheeriness, „ Come we in weariness Home.

I, too, have wandered Through the far lands, Home there was their home, Open their hands ; Yet, though all brothers, born of the foam, Far o'er appalling sea, Ever enthralling me, Blood still was calling me Home !

Men speak of jewels Earth holds abroad; What can compare with One bit of sod, Full of the love-gold sunk, in the loam, Where lies my holy dead, There, where my-mother shed Tears o'er my' sleeping head — Home.

Home, where I first knew Day was alight, Where I would fain be Ere the Long Night, That they might write this in some old tome : This earth the womb was — This earth the bloom was — This earth the tomb was — Home !