Home, Sweet Home, in Idaho

Home, Sweet Home, in Idaho

(For the Improvement Era.)

I had a dream not long ago; I dreamed of home in Idaho, Where mountain glades and sparkling rills Like network thread the timbered hills.

I saw the farmhouse nestled in Among the rocks of mossy green, I heard the rushing waterfall Singing to the world and all, In monotone of mystic rhyme, Protected ’neath the towering pine.

And O, the world seemed sweetly bright, The sun was at its noon-day height. The meadow-grass, all severed lay, A downy bed of new-mown hay. Great, massive clouds looked earthward, too, From ’gainst their banks of heavenly blue, And wallowed in majestic mien, A background to a world of green. And I was home ’mong those I know In my old gem state, Idaho.

The days flew by, and autumn time Fell round that childhood’s home of mine; And golden-purple tints and shades Spread on in patches through the glades. The hills and valleys, through and through Took on a deeper-tinted hue. All frosted stood the mountains tall, From whence came down the reindeers’ call, Beneath the cliffs of Idaho, And nestled in the valleys low.

Then winter, with its frost and snow, And sleigh-bells, tinkling to and fro, And boys and girls en route to school, With pen and ink and slate and rule, Quite welcome made the morning sun; And home they came, when day was done. Then by the pine fire crackling bright, The children sang a song that night— A song I wish the world could know, ’Twas “Home, Sweet Home, in Idaho.”

William Higgins

Paris, Idaho.