We sometimes go away on our vacation with rapturous delight, feeling that there is nothing so good as to be away from work and home; but when the rest time is over there is a pathos and a tenderness about coming home which far exceeds all the joy of going away. Mrs. Sangster has a little song about it which emphasizes our thoughts with real poetic insights:
There's joy in sailing outward,
Tho we leave upon the pier,
With faces grieved and wistful,
Our very dearest dear;
And the sea shall roll between us
For perhaps a whole round year.
There's a joy in climbing mountains,
In fording rushing brooks,
In poking into places
We've read about in books,
In meeting stranger people
With unfamiliar looks.
But the joy of joys is ours,
Untouched by any pain,
When we take the home-bound steamer
And catch the home-bound train;
There's nothing half so pleasant
As coming home again.
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