Saving an' scrimping from day to day
While its best it has squandered an' flung away
Fer a life like that of which I tell
Would rob me quite o' the dread o' hell.
'Toil an' slave an' scrimp an' save - thet's 'bout all we think uv 'n
this country. 'Tain't right, Holden.'
'No, 'tain't right,' said Uncle Eb.
'I know I'm a poor, mis'rable critter. Kind o' out o' tune with
everybody I know. Alwus quarrelled with my own folks, an' now I
ain't got any home. Someday I'm goin' t' die in the poorhouse er on
the ground under these woods. But I tell ye'- here he spoke in a
voice that grew loud with feeling - 'mebbe I've been lazy, as they
say, but I've got more out o' my life than any o' these fools. And
someday God'll honour me far above them. When my wife an' I
parted I wrote some lines that say well my meaning. It was only a
log house we had, but this will show what I got out of it.' Then he
spoke the lines, his voice trembling with emotion.
'O humble home! Thou hadst a secret door
Thro' which I looked, betimes, with wondering eye
On treasures that no palace ever wore
But now - goodbye!
In hallowed scenes what feet have trod thy stage!
The babe, the maiden, leaving home to wed
The young man going forth by duty led
And faltering age.
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