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WHEN I COME HOME.

And make my memory true and strong,
To keep my darling's ways,

That they may light drear ways of life,
And brighten later days.

Louise Reid Estes.

WHEN I COME HOME.

X

ROUND me life's hell of fierce ardors burns,

When I come home, when I come

home;

Over me heaven, with its starry heart, yearns

When I come home, when I come home; For a feast of gods garnished the palace of night,

At a thousand star-windows is throbbing with light;

London makes mirth! but I know God hears The sobs in the dark, and the dropping of

tears;

For I feel that He listens down Night's great

dome

When I come home, when I come home; Far in the night, when I come home!

WHEN I COME HOME.

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I walk under Night's triumphal arch,
When I come home, when I come home,
Exulting with life like a conqueror's march.
When I come home, when I come home,
I pass by the rich-chambered mansions that
shine,

Overflowing with splendor like goblets with wine :

I have fought, I have vanquished the dragon of toil,

And before me my golden Hesperides smile! And O, but Love's flowers make rich the gloam

When I come home, when I come home.

O, the sweet, merry mouths upturned to be kissed,

When I come home, when I come home! How the younglings yearn from the hungry nest,

When I come home, when I come home! My weary, worn heart into sweetness is

stirred,

And it dances and sings like a singing bird, On the branch nighest heaven, - a-top of my

life,

As I clasp my winsome, wooing wife! And her pale cheek with rich, tender passion doth bloom,

When I come home, when I come home.

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WHEN I COME HOME.

Clouds furl off the shining face of my life,

When I come home, when I come home, And leave heaven bare on her bosom, sweet wife,

When I come home, when I come home, With her brave, smiling energies, Faith warm and bright,

With love glorified and serenely alight,
With her womanly beauty, and queenly calm,
She steals to my heart with a blessing of
balm ;

And O, but the wine of Love sparkles with

foam,

When I come home, when I come home!
Home, home. When I come home,
Far in the night, when I come home.

THE HAPPY LOT.

B

LEST is the hearth where daughters gird the fire,

And sons that shall be happier than their sire,

Who sees them crowd around his evening

chair,

While Love and Hope inspire his wordless prayer.

O, from their home paternal may they go, With little to unlearn, though much to know; May they shun baseness as they shun the grave!

May they be frugal, pious, humble, brave! Sweet peace be theirs, the moonlight of the breast,

And occupation, and alternate rest;

Be chaste their nuptial bed, their home be

sweet,

Their floor resound the tread of little feet; Blessed beyond fear and fate, if blessed by

Thee,

And heirs, O Love, of thine Eternity.

Ebenezer Elliot.

HOME'S A NEST.

HOME is a nest of the spring, Where children may grow to take wing.

A nest where the young folk are bred
Up, to take on the work of the dead.

Where babes may grow women and men, For the rearing of children again.

Where our children grow up to take on
Our own places, when we are all gone.

All forsaken, when children have flown,
Like a nest on the bush-top alone.