The Lad’s Answer
Our little lad came in one day
With dusty shoes and weary feet.
His playtime had been hard and long
Out in the summer’s noontide heat.
“I’m glad I’m home,” he cried, and hung
His torn straw hat up in the hall,
While in the corner by the door
He put away his bat and ball.
“I wonder why,” his aunty said,
“This little lad always comes here,
When there are many other homes
As nice as this, and quite as near.”
He stood a moment deep in thought,
Then, with the love-light in his eye,
He pointed where his mother sat,
And said: “Here she lives; that is why!”
With beaming face the mother heard,
Her mother-heart was very glad.
A true, sweet answer he had given,
That thoughtful, loving little lad.
And well I know that hosts of lads
Are just as loving, true, and dear,
That they would answer as did he,
“ ’Tis home, for mother’s living here.”