LOVE OF HOME.

HERE is a land, of every land the pride,

Beloved by heaven o'er

all the world beside; Where brighter suns dis

pense serener light, And milder moons em

paradise the night;

A land of beauty, virtue, valor,

Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted

youth.

The wandering mariner, whose eye explores

The wealthiest isles, the most en-
chanting shores,

Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;

In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole!
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest-
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his soften'd looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life!
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie!
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.

Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man?-a patriot?-look around;
Oh thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home!
JAMES MONTGOMERY.

SWEET HOME.

ID pleasures and palaces though we may

roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us here, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain!
O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly that came at my call;-
O, give me sweet peace of mind, dearer than all !
Home, home, sweet home!
There's no place like home!

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

HEAVEN ON EARTH.

ND has the earth lost its so spacious round,
The sky its blue circumference above,
That in this little chamber there are found
Both earth and heaven, my universe o
love,

All that my God can give me or remove,
Here sleeping save myself in mimic death?
Sweet, that in this small compass I behoove

To live their living, and to breathe their breath! Almost I wish that, with one common sigh,

We might resign all mundane care and strife;
And seek together that transcendent sky,
Where father, mother, children, husband, wife,
Together pant in everlasting life!

Home, home, sweet home! There's no place like home!

THOMAS HOOD.

IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE

F thou wert by my side, my love,
How fast would evening fail,
In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale !

I miss thee, when, by Gunga's stream,
My twilight steps I guide,

But most beneath the lamp's pale beam

I miss thee from my side.

But when at morn and eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,

I feel, though thou art distant far,
Thy prayers ascend for me.

Then on, then on, where duty leads!
My course be onward still,

O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor mild Malwah detain;

For sweet the bliss us both awaits
By yonder western main.

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say,
Across the dark blue sea;

But ne'er were hearts so light and gay
As then shall meet in thee!

REGINALD HEBEN

THE STREAM OF LIFE.

STREAM descending to the sea,

Thy mossy banks betwee:1,
The flow'rets blow the grasses grow
The leafy trees are green.

In garden plots the children play,
The fields the laborers till,
The houses stand on either hand,
And thou descendest still.

O life descending into death,
Our waking eyes behold,
Parent and friend thy lapse attend,
Companions young and old.

Strong purposes our minds possess,
Our hearts affections fill,

We toil and earn, we seek and learn,
And thou descendest still.

O end to which our currents tend,
Inevitable sea,

To which we flow, what do we know,
What shall we guess of thee?

A roar we hear upon thy shore,
As we our course fulfil;

Scarce we divine a sun shall shine
And be above us still.

WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS.

W

Though spice-breathing gales on his caravan hover,
Though for him all Arabia's fragrance ascends,
The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover
The bower where he sat with-wife, children and
friends.

The dayspring of youtn, still unclouded by sorrow,
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends;

But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow

No warmth from the smile of-wife, children and friends.

Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish
The laurel which o'er the dead favorite bends;
O'er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish,
Bedewed with the tears of-wife, children and friends.
Let us drink, for my song, growing graver and graver,
To subjects too solemn insensibly tends;

Let us drink, pledge me high, love and virtue shall flavor
The glass which I fill to-wife, children and friends.
WILLIAM Robert SpenCER.

HOME VOICES.

AM so home-sick in this summer weather! Where is my home upon this weary earth? The maple trees are bursting into freshness Around the pleasant place that gave me birth. But dearer far, a grave for me is waiting,

Far up among the pine trees' greener shade; The willow boughs the hand of love has planted, Wave o'er the hillock where my dead are laid. Why go without me-oh, ye loved and loving? What has earth left of happiness or peace? in-Let me come to you, where the heart grows calmer; Let me lie down where life's wild strugglings cease. Earth has no home for hearts so worn and weary; Life has no second spring for such a year; Oh! for the day that bids me come to meet you! And, life in gladness, in that summer hear!

and

R

HOME OF THE WORKINGMAN.

ESOLVE-and tell your wife of your good reso lution. She will aid it all she can. Her step will be lighter and her hand will be busier all day, expecting the comfortable evening at home when you return. Household affairs will have been well attended to. A place for everything, and everything in its place, will, like some good genius, have made even an humble home the scene of neatness. arrangement and taste. The table will be ready a the fireside. The loaf will be one of that order which says, by its appearance, You may cut and come again. The cups and saucers will be waiting for supplies The kettle will be singing; and the children, happy with fresh air and exercise, will be smiling in their glad anticipation of that evening meal when father is at home, and of the pleasant reading afterwards.