Silent, yet did not each young heart With love and reverence melt; Oh blest be those fair girls, and blest That _home_ where God is felt. _Mrs. Hemans._ Sweet is the smile of _home_; the mutual look When hearts are of each other sure; Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook, The haunt of all affections pure; Yet in the world even these abide, and we Above the world, our calling boast: Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free; Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost. _Keble._ Yes, let the future smile or mourn, To us a glorious place is given, With the great church of the first-born, Whose names are registered in heaven. Beyond the bounds of time’s expansion, Where change and sorrow cannot come, We’re journeying to the promised mansion, Made ready in our Father’s _home_. Friends, kindred, loving and beloved, That wont on earth our lot to cheer, Thither are, one by one removed, And we shall find them settled there. Enough! though sin, and pain, and death, This transitory world infest, They who attain to Abraham’s faith, Shall be with faithful Abraham blest. _Hankinson._ Our God, to call us _homeward_, His only Son sent down; And now, still more to tempt our hearts, Has taken up our own. _Thomas Ward._ How sweetly flowed the gospel’s sound, From lips of gentleness and grace, When listening thousands gathered round, And joy and reverence filled the place. From heaven He came--of heaven He spoke, To heaven He led his followers’ way; Dark clouds of gloomy night He broke, Unveiling an immortal day. “Come wanderers to my Father’s _home_, Come, all ye weary ones, and rest!” Yes, sacred Teacher.--we will come-- Obey thee, love thee, and be blest. _Bowring._ _Home_ of the Christian! when Messiah comes A scene of Heaven in miniature art thou, Where all is redolent of charms divine, Temper renewed, and souls of grave becalmed. Thy quiet precincts of a purer world Breathe to the heart of faith, and, when compared With what the worldling in his home enjoys.-- E’en like the vexing hum of some large street, Where all is haste and hurry, tramp and strife, In contrast with the unpolluted calm Of some cathedral, when a spirit’s hush Hath brooded--seems that worldlings’ noisy hour. _R. Montgomery._