From the Omaha Daily Bee, November 28, 1912. By W. D. Nesbit. A little road that winds its way Around the hill The old, old trees that swing and sway The crumbling mill The drowsing fields where drifts of snow The rambling lane The heart that thrills all quickly; so We’re home again! And old-time songs we had forgot— This is our shame Hushed speech of friends who now are not The ruddy flame Of great logs in the fireplace there And sparks that fly The creak of an old rocking chair A smile, a sigh. To gaze out through the frosted pane And trace the ways We rambled in the sun and rain In olden days To hear the old gate click, and all The olden sounds To sit and silently recall Life’s varied rounds. To see the twilight creeping down From out the sky To see the twinkling lights of town To start reply To see gray hairs where none were then And wrinkles, too— To think how has the world of men Held me and you! And to be glad for all of this For all the glow That lives to bless us from what is The long ago— To be glad that the wandering ways O’er land and foam Have led us through the circling days And brought us home!