O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me; let them bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy tabernacles.Psalm 43:3
Childhood, night-time play,
whither around the house, or barn or meadow
the light in a window was a beacon,
to guide our way.
We didn't have the electric light in those times,
just a kerosene lamp, flickering, but rich and mellow,
the flickers of light, beckoned us home,
not unlike the church bell chimes.
As time went past,
the light never dimmed or died,
boyhood excursions call us to distant points of fun and pleasure,
from those loved ones at home,
when thoughts of home prevailed,
to that light we hied.
When grownup and wander-lust captured our minds,
The world was, a wonder-world to simple country boys,
The sights were marvelous, but unfulfilling,
leaving room for the yearning,
for the old home and light left behind.
The pure sweet, honest, simple love and family ties,
were so satisfying and comfortable,
relaxing the worldly tensions,
that the crowded throngs brought,
the withdrawal was a heritage we shared at home and fireside.
Dad with the Bible ever at hand, shared the words of love,
Mother in her apron, the smell of fresh bread,
the old tom cat by the hearth, the light at the window shining,
always twas paradise below a picture of Heaven above.
The light still shines from that same window,
though times has erased the forms of the loved ones so dear,
the light will ever shine in our minds and hearts.
The light is brighter now as the cold science has replaced the lamp,
but we're guided by that light from above,
comforts us below.
We visit the old homestead,
the shadows and influence of lost loved ones still linger there.
We're still going home, twill ever be so,
we've so much invested there,
remembering the love, the comfort, and care.
Dad's old Bible is still on the table by his chair,
Mother's checkered apron folded neatly upon the arm of her rocker-
the memories are so heavy,
the old tom cat,
gone long ago,
his padded mat still there.
It seems in our experience, our sentiments,
are little shared,
(by the world)
by the masses of get and gain,
I don't believe they have been blessed by a home of love, caring,
or a window of welcome by loved ones whose very souls were ever honestly bared.
Our hearts desire is to remain true to that promise,
that all the darkness of dismay or night dark,
can never blot out the wonderful, thought filled rays,
of love displayed by a family dedicated to each other and neighbors,
the entire length of days-
A window of love, hope, welcome,
of refuge from cradle to grave,
we must keep this spirit alive.
by
James Gargus
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.
Psalm 119:105
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