---
title: 'Boyd McCullough’s Cheerful Cottage'
type: post
author: 'R. Andrew Myers'
date: 2020-01-21
url: https://confessional.org/blog/2020-boyd-mcculloughs-cheerful-cottage
---

# Boyd McCullough’s Cheerful Cottage

[Boyd McCullough](/authors/boyd-mccullough) (1825-1899) was an Irish-American minister who served in the Reformed Presbyterian Church of North America (RPCNA) and the United Presbyterian Church of North America (UPCNA). He traveled extensively, serving pastorates in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin; and he spent time with the Covenanters in England, Ireland and Scotland. He was a poet as well, publishing in 1882, *The Shamrock; or, Erin Set Free: A Poem on the Conversion of the Irish From Paganism* (not yet available on Log College Press). Appended to this remarkable epic poem are other prose and poetic compositions. They speak of not only his native Ireland, but also experiences from places such as Kansas and Canada, as well as on the sea.

![Photo credit: R. Andrew Myers](https://assets.confessional.org/images/mccullough-boyd-the-shamrock.jpg)Photo credit: R. Andrew MyersThe following poem is selected for today’s consideration because it represents the appreciation he had, as one who traveled extensively, for the virtues of family, home, hospitality and hearth. One can imagine Rev. McCullough traveling through the prairie on his horse and stopping at a home for some hospitality along the way.

**The Cheerful Cottage**

> While wandering through the lonely West,
> Till man and beast were weary,
> I found a soothing spot of rest,
> Which female hands made cheery.
> A fasting ride of twenty miles
> Made every dish a dainty;
> And then where cordial welcome smiles
> A crust can serve for plenty.
> 
> Her table-cloth might snow surpass,
> The bread was almost whiter,
> The butter smelled of fragrant grass,
> No gold was ever brighter.
> Her notes in softest accents fell,
> The ear with rapture filling,
> As ancient songs, with skillful swell,
> Upon her tongue were trilling.
> 
> The rustic bed allured to sleep,
> Dispersing care and cumber,
> Till dreams of friends beyond the deep
> Made paradise of slumber.
> Next morn when passing o’er the plain,
> Or threading through the valley,
> Or watching geese, a noisy train,
> From out the marshes sally,
> 
> I mused upon that pleasant spot
> That graced the western prairies,
> And many a tale to mind it brought
> Of cave-adorning fairies.
> Let magic halls the fancy stir
> With all the fire of Byron;
> A simple housewife I prefer
> To mermaid, fay or siren.