“ His Hand Upon the Latch.

A Young Wife’s Song.

A man standing outside. He is holding a door handle, as if he is about to open the door. He has a bag over his shoulder. 1/2 page.
My cottage home is fill’d with light1
The long, long summer day,2
But, ah ! I dearer love the night,3
And hail the sinking ray.4
For eve restores me one whose smile5
Doth more than morning’s match,—6
And life afresh seems dawning while7
His hand is on the latch !8
When autumn fields are thick with sheaves,9
And shadows earlier fall,10
And grapes grow purple ’neath the eaves11
Along our trellis’d wall,—12
I dreaming sit,—the sleepy bird13
Faint twittering in the thatch,—14
To wake to joy when soft is heard15
His hand upon the latch !16
In the short winter afternoon17
I throw my work aside,18
And through the lattice, whilst the moon19
Shines mistily and wide,20
On the dim upland paths I peer21
In vain his form to catch,—22
I startle with delight, and hear23
His hand upon the latch !24
Yes ; I am his in storm and shine ;25
For me he toils all day ;26
And his true heart I know is mine,27
Both near me and away.28
And when he leaves our garden gate29
At morn, his steps I watch,—30
Then patiently till eve await31
His hand upon the latch !32