The fireplace dominates the low broad room

It's hearth the place where children play.

The cold dead ashes through the day

Tell of a mighty blaze the night before.

On the wide and solid shelf above the hearth

A cheery clock tick-ticks away the hours.

Two candle sticks, tobacco and some pipes

A pewter tray, small odds, a vase of flowers,

Show this a place where folks have lived

And made its warmth a gathering place.

The blackened crance, swung back against the bricks

And solemn andiron owls, with smoky face

Proclaim a spot that is the heart of home.

Toward night the boys bring in the wood;

Spread branches, and the sturdier lengths

Of trees, that make a heavy load

For little lads, and try their childish strength,

When darkness falls the new-made fire is lit;

The crackling flames leap up to catch the logs

Laid front and back, and chairs are drawn

Before the blaze, so that grown-ups may sit

And talk about their daily tasks,

And puff slow smoke, and gravely nod,

Discussing crops and rain and how

The preacher showed the words of God.

And so the logs burn red and redder still,

Break, and sink to coals, and dimly glow.

And then each one goes slowly off to bed

And leaves the warm fire burning low.