Coming Home

A fire burning low upon the hearth
    Softly glowing through the window by the door
To the sound of scraping off damp earth
    Whistled tune shall get no encore
Key turned, welcomed by the smell of sup
    A wall of warmth almost knocks me back
A smile for there is tea in my cup
    And nothing that I do lack
O the blessings of our Lord
    In this life and the next
    Have me feeling rather vexed
Why should I gain from His reward?
    His goodness, you can remember
    His love, you can always remember

By Pete Scopes