Mary Hunter

Mary Hunter

Mary Hunter

April 16, 1854 – April 17, 1902

Born of John Jamieson Mary Moffat

Mary’s Memoirs

Saints Meeting with Jesus | Going Home | Coming Home

In her three poems written in the late 1800s, you’ll see a sensitive woman observing her children, the stages of life and a foremost love in Jesus.       


O how sweet to meet with Jesus
When the storm of life is o’er
When the battle fought and victory won
And safe on Canaan’s shore

When no more of sin and sorrow
Shall disturb our peaceful rest
When no dread of life’s tomorrow
Shall e’er cross our happy breast

When within that happy mansion
Our feet no more shall roam
We shall see our dear Redeemer
Who will bid us welcome home

Home from every clime and nation
Home from Afric’s burning sand
From the South Sea, and her islands
And from frozen north Lapland

When all shall join together
To sing our Saviour’s praise
And shout our Hallelujahs
In never-ending days.


“I’se doin’ home”, said a little child
And its heart beat high in rapture wild
And it danced along on its homeward way
For it had been away from its home all day
And it thought of its mama’s fond caress
With a shake and a hug and a sweet sweet kiss
And thought of a ride on papa’s knee
And it shouted aloud for very glee

“I’m going home”, said a little boy
And his heart beat wild in his childish joy
And he laid way within his desk
His dull old book, and his hateful task
He longed for the lane with its quiet pool
To paddle in, on his road from school
And longed for his mother’s pantry shelf
Where oftentimes he had helped himself

“I am going home”, said a maiden fair
And the sunbeams danced in her golden hair
And her laughter’s peel was like music sweet
Or like ripples of water where two streams meet
“I long to drive up the winding lane
Between rows of maples, and fields of grain
I am going to see my home so dear
For I have not seen it for over a year”

“I am going home”, said the youth at school
As he packed his grip, but his heart was full
And he thought of being at home again
And of bringing the cows up the winding lane
And folk at home would be filled with delight
For they were watching for him that night
And his mother would cry for very joy
To kiss again her grown-up boy

“I am going home” said the fair young bride
“Home by my loving husband’s side
And away from me he shall never roam
For we’ll be so happy in our own dear home
And over this old world so wide
No place shall be like our own fireside
And all that’s untrue from our home be driven
And earth have one bright spot of heaven”

“I am going home”, said the man of care
“To the sun-bathed fields, and my native air
Away from the noise of the city’s din
Away from the haunts of vice and sin
To that dear old home, where I played with glee
And said my prayers at my mother’s knee
And I’ll drink of the gurgling dancing rill
Where it sparkled so clear at the foot of the hill”

“I am going home” said a matron grave
Where the grass is green, and the flowers wave?
But years had passed since we wept o’er the bier
That held her first-born’s dust, so dear
And though others came, her home to grace
No other had ever quite filled its place
For long its prattle she sorely missed
And its downy cheek she had often kissed

“I am going home”, said the man of God
Who the way of the Master long had trod
Who had often told of a Saviour’s love
And a glorious home for the saints above
And he longed to be in that home of light
With nothing there to dim his sight
His feet were sore with the way he trod
And he longed for the balm of a healing God


O brothers and sisters growing old
Do you all remember yet
That home in the shade of the rustly trees
Where once our household met?
Do you mind how we used to come from school
Through the summer’s pleasant heat
With the yellow finnels golden dust
On our tired little feet?
And how sometimes in an idle mood
We loitered on the way
And stopped in the woods to gather flowers
Or in the fields to play
Till warned by the deep’ning shadows fall
That told of the coming night
We climbed to the top of the last long hill
And saw our home in sight
And brothers and sisters, older now
Than she whose life is o’er
Do you think of the mother’s loving face
That looked from the open door
Alas, for the changing things of time
That home in the dust is low
And that loving smile was hid from us
In the darkness long ago
And we have come to life’s last hill
From which our weary eyes
Can almost look on that home that shines
Eternal in the skies
So brothers and sisters as we go
Still let us move as one
Always together keeping step
Till the march of life is done
For that mother who waited for us here
Wearing a smile so sweet
Now waits on the hills of Paradise
For her children’s coming feet

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