HOME.

SCARCELY in our English language
Can be found a word more sweet,
Than the one our childhood's lispings
Learn so early to repeat;
From the humble, toiling peasant,
To the queen upon her throne,
Not a heart but beats responsive
To the magic spells of Home.

Birthplace of the soul's affections!
Light is thy unchanging dower,
As the light is to the sunbeam,
And sweet odours to the flower;
Love unseen, but ever present,
Like the free, unfettered air,
Unperceived by outward vision,
Yet we breathe it everywhere.

Home! all charms around thee twining,
Bind us to the sacred spot;
Earliest scene of fond remembrance,
And the last to be forgot.
Pole-star of the wandering stranger!
Wheresoe'er his footsteps roam,
Turns his heart, with strong attraction,
To the blessed light of Home.

All things fair, or good, or noble,
Round the hearth-stone may be found;
There the wife and mother dwelleth,
Spreading happiness around.

Laughing childhood sports beside her,
With its bright and beaming eye,
Smiling love to all around it,
Like a sunbeam from the sky.

Age with locks of silvery whiteness,
Guides the trembling steps of youth,
In the pleasant ways of Wisdom,
And the sacred paths of Truth.
Manhood's soul of noble daring,
Shows what trophies may be won
On the battle-field of Progress,
And to action leads them on.

Home! the nursery of nations;
Brightest hopes of future good
Rest upon thy mission being

Better known and understood.
It is thine to train the HOWARDS,

And the HAMPDENS of our race; Thine to teach a MILTON's firmness, And a SYDNEY'S polished grace.

Thine to train a nation's daughters For their duties pure and high; Thine to teach their power to vanquish Many an ill o'er which they sigh.

In the happy fireside circle,
Woman's genius must be taught;
HEAD as well as heart instructed
In the claims by duty brought.

Then will "they who rock the cradle," Fitted be "to rule the world;" Then 'gainst every form of evil

Will a mighty power be hurled; For the MIND of coming ages,

WOMAN'S touch will form and mould;

She can crush the buds of evil,
And the germs of good unfold.

Happier than the sage of yore,

We have power to move the world; Wider spread the glad Evangel,

Be the sacred Page unfurled; This the lever-but it rests not

'Neath the temple's swelling dome; If the world move on and upward,

It must rest in Home, sweet Home!

REAL HUMILITY.

HUMILITY makes saints on earth. It is the parent of meekness, the most excellent natural cure for anger. He that, by daily considering his own infirmities and failings, makes the error of his neighbour to be his own case, and remembers that he daily needs God's pardon and his brother's charity, will not be apt to rage at the levities, or misfortunes, or indiscretions of another; greater than which he considers that he is very frequently and more inexcusably guilty of. But remember that humility consists not in railing against thyself, wearing mean clothes, or going softly and submissively, but in hearty and real evil or mean opinion of thyself. Believe thyself an unworthy person heartily, as thou believest thyself to be hungry, or poor, or sick when thou art so: and whatsoever evil thou sayest of thyself, be content that others should think to be true: and if thou callest thyself fool, be not angry if another say so of thee. He is an hypocrite that accuses himself before others, with an intent not to be believed. Love to be concealed, and little esteemed: be content to want praise, never being troubled when thou art slighted or undervalued; for thou canst not undervalue thyself, and if thou thinkest so meanly as there is reason, no contempt will seem unreasonable, and there

fore it will be very tolerable. Never be ashamed of thy birth, or thy parents, or thy trade, or thy present employment, for the meanness or poverty of any of them; and when there is an occasion to speak of them, such an occasion as would invite you to speak of anything that pleases you, omit it not, but speak as readily and indifferently of thy meanness as of thy greatness.

HAPPINESS.

THE sun is careering in glory and might,
'Mid the deep blue sky and the cloudlets white;
The bright wave is tossing its foam on high,
And the summer breezes go lightly by;
The air and the water dance, glitter, and play,
And why should not I be as merry as they?

The linnet is singing the wild wood through;
The fawn's bounding footsteps skim over the dew;
The butterfly flits round the flowering tree;

And the cowslip and blue-bell are bent by the bee,
All the creatures that dwell in the forest are gay,
And why should not I'be as merry as they?