My Loved Ones Come Not To My Call - A poem by Mrs. Susan C. Keefe

My Loved Ones Come Not To My Call.

I am home, father. Weeks and months have sped,
And so numbered that twenty years have died
Since I then dwelt in the dear old home place:
My yearning heart seeks thy loved face.
I remember your hand lovingly on mine laid:
"Daughter, God bless you," were words you said,
Upon my leaving for the distant West:
Your child home again, mind and heart can rest.

I am home, dear Mother, but weary and sad,
In no other place was I ever so glad,
So light-hearted, so joyous and free,
As in thy presence. Loving words with thee!
Sweet always thy ministering care:
Mother, thou wast good as thou wast fair.
O that I might thy dear hand grasp,
My arms around thy neck fondly clasp!

I am home, Sister, eldest Sister mine;
I have been away a long, long time.
The inbound tide of the vanished years
Bore sorrow; I needed thee to help stay my tears.
Childhood's home! Sister, why dost thou leave
Me lonely? Without thy coming my heart doth grieve.
I loved thee in the past, love thee yet;
Could I ever thy true sisterly kindness forget?

^__Mrs. Susan C. Keefe, Oswego.

Poets and Poetry of Kansas
Edited by Thomas W. Herringshaw
(Chicago: American Publishers' Association. 1894)
Page 79