O, to have a little house! To own the hearth and stool and all! The heaped-up sods upon the fire, The pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains And pendulum swinging up and down! A dresser filled with shining delph, Speckled and white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor, And fixing on their shelf again My white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night Beside the fire and by myself, Sure of a bed, and loath to leave The ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och I but I'm weary of mist and dark, And roads where there's never a house or bush, And tired I am of bog and road, And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high, And I am praying Him night and day, For a little house--a house of my own-- Out of the wind's and the rain's way.
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