First, I think that the fact of Heaven being our home should make us _love_ it. Sometimes we find people who have willingly settled in a foreign country, and done their best to forget the manners and language of their native land. But such cases are very rare. If you meet with an Englishman out in the Colonies, he always speaks of the old country as home. Even colonists who have been born in our foreign settlements, and have never seen England, speak of _going home_ when they visit it. In many an Australian hut, or New Zealand farm, there is a swelling of the heart, or a glistening in the eyes, as the faded flowers drop from the home letter. The flowers are poor enough, and dead enough, but they once grew in a home garden, or blossomed in an English meadow. One of our great novelists tells us how two men in Australia walked many weary miles only to listen to the song of the skylark. That homely bird was precious in their eyes because it reminded them of home. I have read that when Swiss soldiers are abroad, they are not allowed to play, or listen to, their national airs. The music reminds them of their cow-bells ringing among the fair valleys and mountains of their native land, and under its influence some have deserted the army, and some even died of grief. The German loves to talk of the _Fatherland_, and has a word in his language which very strongly expresses home-sickness. Talk to a Scotsman about the beauties of Venice, or Rome, and he will tell you that you should see Edinburgh, or Aberdeen. Speak to an Irishman of the wonders of the tropics, and he will at once begin the praises of the Green Isle. The love of home is the very root and core of our nature. Well, if we love our earthly home, where we stay for so short a time, where, after all, we are but strangers and pilgrims, we ought still more to love Heaven, whose citizens we are. A child was once asked where his home was, and answered with eyes full of love--"Where mother is." Brothers, our home is where Jesus is.