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A HOME OF YESTERYEAR This house of logs was once a home Where love abode and children played around the door, And still is loved, by some who dwelt therein,- Bul those who made i1 fiIst a home, are now no more. "A candle's but a little thing It starts with just a bit of string. Yet dipped and dipped with patient hand, It gathers wax upon the strand Until, complete and snowy white It gives at last a lovely light. Life seems so like that bit of string. Each deed we do, a simple thing Yet day by day if on life's strand We work with patient heart and hand It gathers joy, makes dark days bright, And gives at last a lovely light. â€"Author Unknown