no place like home!

to hallow us there.

A charm from the sky seen which, seek through the world, is

neer met with elsewhere!

There's no place like home! there's no place like home !

John Stoward Fayne. /

God's love, unchanging, pure, and true,
The Paraclete white-shining through
His peace,
the fall of Hermon's dew!

With such a prayer, on this sweet day,
As thou mayst hear and I may say,
I greet thee, dearest, far away!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

THE POET'S FRIEND.

LORD BOLINGBROKE.

COME then, my friend! my genius! come along;
O master of the poet, and the song!
And while the muse now stoops, or now ascends,
To man's low passions, or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise,
To fall with dignity, with temper rise;
Formed by thy converse happily to steer
From grave to gay, from lively to severe;
Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease,
Intent to reason, or polite to please.

O, while along the stream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame;
Say, shall my little bark attendant sail,
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale?
When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose,
Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes,
Shall then this verse to future age pretend
Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend!
That, urged by thee, I turned the tuneful art
From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart :
For wit's false mirror held up Nature's light;
Showed erring pride, WHATEVer is, is right;
That REASON, PASSION, answer one great aim;
That true SELF-LOVE and SOCIAL are the same;
That VIRTUE only makes our bliss below;
And all our knowledge is, OURSELVES TO KNOW.

ALEXANDER POPE.

A GENEROUS friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.

POPE'S ILIAD.

FRIENDSHIP.

HAM. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation coped withal.
HOR. O my dear lord-

HAM.
Nay, do not think I flatter:
For what advancement may I hope from thee
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits,
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor

be flattered?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou
hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath sealed thee for herself; for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,
A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are
those

Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please: Give me that

man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.

SHAKESPEARE.

OLD MATTHEW

A CONVERSATION.

WE talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true,

A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two.

We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat;

And from the turf a fountain broke

And gurgled at our feet.

"Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match This water's pleasant tune

With some old border-song, or catch
That suits a summer's noon.

"Or of the church-clock and the chimes
Sing here beneath the shade
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes
Which you last April made!"

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;

And thus the dear old man replied,

The gray-haired man of glee :

"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, How merrily it goes!

"T will murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.

"And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay

Beside this fountain's brink.

"My eyes are dim with childish tears,

My heart is idly stirred,

For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.

"Thus fares it still in our decay:

And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away Than what it leaves behind.

"The black bird amid leafy trees,

The lark above the hill,

Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will.

"With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see

A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free:

""T is true," I'd not believe them more than thee, All-noble Marcius. - Let me twine

Mine arms about that body, where-against
My grainéd ash an hundred times hath broke,
And scared the moon with splinters! Here I clip
The anvil of my sword; and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valor. Know thou first,
I loved the maid I married; never man
Sighed truer breath; but that I see thee here,