But the home can only be really home in the truest and best sense of the word, when the people who live there make it home-like. It need have no costly adornments, but every member of the family should have "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price." There should be no display of angry tempers, or of hard words. Kindness should reign there; gentleness and love should be practised there. In short, that home can only be a happy one which is a copy of the home in heaven. Parents have a very solemn and important duty to perform here. It is for them to make their homes not nurseries of vice and sin, but homes of love and happiness, where Jesus and His angels will be glad to come. How many men and women there are who can trace an evil, misspent, sinful life back to their early home. It was, may be, from a father’s lips they first learnt to swear; perhaps from a mother’s example they first learnt to lie. And the children, too, have a solemn duty to perform with regard to home. There are life lessons which must be learnt at home, if we would learn them at all. Obedience, purity, love, and piety, all must be learnt at home; and if these are indeed to be found there, the home on earth is a fit type of the home in heaven. Reader, are you doing your utmost to make your home on earth like the home beyond? Perhaps you have never thought much about it. Perhaps you have never considered that there was any connection between them. But there is; there should be. They should be, as it were, the same home, separated indeed by a narrow gulf, but joined by a bridge over which all must pass, even death itself. Some people look upon death quite wrongly, for this reason. If one of their children die, they almost think that when the earth covers it they will never see it again; but the Bible does not teach that. Rather should we feel, in the beautiful words of the hymn, that our little ones are going home-- "They are going--only going-- Jesus called them long ago; All the wintry time they’re passing Softly as the falling snow. When the violets in the spring-time Catch the azure of the sky, They are carried out to slumber Sweetly, where the violets lie. All along the mighty ages, All adown the solemn time, They have taken up their homeward March to a serener clime, Where the watching, waiting angels Lead them from the shadow dim, To the brightness of His Presence Who has called them unto Him."