His hand upon the latch

My cottage home is fill’d with light The long, long summer day, But, ah! I dearer love the night. And hail the sinking ray. For eve restores me one whose smile Doth more than morning’s match,— And life afresh seems dawning while His hand is on the latch!

When autumn fields are thick with sheaves And shadows earlier fall, And grapes grow purple ’neath the eaves Along our trellis’d wall,— I dreaming sit,—the sleepy bird Faint twittering in the thatch,— To wake to joy when soft is heard His hand upon the latch!

In the short winter afternoon I throw my work aside, And through the lattice, whilst the moon Shines mistily and wide, On the dim upland paths I peer In vain his form to catch,— I startle with delight, and hear His hand upon the latch!

Yes; I am his in storm and shine; For me he toils all day; And his true heart I know is mine, Both near me and away. And when he leaves our garden gate At morn, his steps I watch,— Then patiently till eve await His hand upon the latch!