Oh, what is life without these? A
desolation!--a painful, glooming pilgrimage through "desert heaths and
barren sands." But home gives to life its fertilizing dews, its budding
hopes, and its blossoming joys. When far away in distant lands or upon the
ocean's heaving breast, we pine away and become "home-sick;" no voice there
like a mother's; no sympathy there like a wife's; no loved one there like a
child; no resting place there like home; and we cry out, "Home! sweet,
sweet home!"
Thus our nature instinctively longs for the deep love and the true hearts
of home. It has for our life more satisfaction than all the honors, and the
riches and the luxuries of the world. We soon grow sick of these, and
become sick for home, however humble it may be. Its endearments are ever
fresh, as if in the bursting joys of their first experience. They remain
unforgotten in our memories and imperishable in our hearts. When friends
become cold, society heartless, and adversity frowns darkly and heavily
upon us, oh, it is then that we turn with fond assurance to home, where
loved ones will weep as well as rejoice with us.
"Oh, the blessing of a home, where old and young mix kindly,
The young unawed, the old unchilled, in unreserved communion!
Oh that refuge from the world, when a stricken son or daughter
May seek with confidence of love, a father's hearth and heart;
Come unto me, my son, if men rebuke and mock thee,
There always shall be one to bless,--for I am on thy side!"
SECTION II.
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