Home

gjcltganjlrpi It ia not my walls, be they humble or grand, That the dearest of wurds in our tongue we define - No measure, or lesser or larger of land, Can hold by its firman a thing ao divine. Home ! sweetest of places beneath the broad sun, Who ia it thy sweetest of sweetness has won '( Nay - the lord in his palace, though smooth acres sweep To the verge of its visión, his own - all his own - Though sunshine his senses delightsomely steep- Thy beautif ui grace he may never have known. Home! brightest of places beneath the broad sun, -, Who is it thy brightest of brightness has won P And the cotter who rests him on Saturday uight' When the snow-aheeted world wins a glow from the fire, When thrift all about him is smiling and bright- Not al ways f or him is there crowned his desire. Home ! rarest of places beneath the broad sun. Who is it thy rarest of rareness lias won P Ah ! the hamlet and hall may be equally biest, With comfort that welcomes, with welcomes that cheer, And better than any may each be confessed, Yet home that is home find no anchorage here. Home ! subtlest of places beneath the broad sun, Who is thy subtleness truly has won ï They only have won thee- they only have known Why thy f our little letters express of pure bliss, That dweil amid Bweetness whose seed has been sown In a región above, ere transplanted to this ! Home ! Eden that blesses, though veiled be the Bun, It is love and love only thy essence has won. The flowers of thy garden may all fade away; Through exile, love's landmarks be mistily lost; But the spirit of home is not mortal as they, And it lives howe'er sadly our longing is crossed. Home ! rest of the soul under ehadow or sun, Whoever has won thee, forever has won !