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seems

A charm from the sky which, seek through the world,

Home;

home;

we

no place like home!

is hallow us there

is

neer met with elsewhere:

sweet, sweet home!

There's no place like home! there's no place like home;

John Howard Fayne. /

The shore is lined with anchored Slipch, One ship the line no eye will miss; But God. will know which anchion slips tus sud his angels out with this 6.4.

[HELEN HUNT JACKSON.]

POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS.

BENEDICITE.

FRIENDSHIP.

GOD's love and peace be with thee, where
Soe'er this soft autumnal air
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair!

Whether through city casements comes
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms,
Or, out among the woodland blooms,

It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face, Imparting, in its glad embrace, Beauty to beauty, grace to grace!

Fair Nature's book together read,

The old wood-paths that knew our tread, The maple shadows overhead,

The hills we climbed, the river seen
By gleams along its deep ravine,
All keep thy memory fresh and green.

Where'er I look, where'er I stray,
Thy thought goes with me on my way,
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day :

O'er lapse of time and change of scene,
The weary waste which lies between
Thyself and me, my heart I lean.

Thou lack'st not Friendship's spellword, nor
The half-unconscious power to draw
All hearts to thine by Love's sweet law.

With these good gifts of God is cast Thy lot, and many a charm thou hast To hold the blessed angels fast.

If, then, a fervent wish for thee
The gracious heavens will heed from me,
What should, dear heart, its burden be?

The sighing of a shaken reed,
What can I more than meekly plead
The greatness of our common need?

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THE half-seen memories of childish days,
When pains and pleasures lightly came and went;
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent
In fearful wanderings through forbidden ways;
The vague, but manly wish to tread the maze
Of life to noble ends, whereon intent,
Asking to know for what man here is sent,
The bravest heart must often pause, and gaze;
The firin resolve to seek the chosen end
Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature,
Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to friend
With strength no selfish purpose can secure :
My happy lot is this, that all attend
That friendship which first came, and which shall
last endure.

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And, after many a year,

Glowed unexhausted kindliness,

Like daily sunrise there.

My careful heart was free again ;

O friend, my bosom said,

Through thee alone the sky is arched,
Through thee the rose is red;

All things through thee take nobler form,

And look beyond the earth;

The mill-round of our fate appears

A sun-path in thy worth.

Me too thy nobleness has taught

To master my despair;

The fountains of my hidden life
Are through thy friendship fair.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

THE MEMORY OF THE HEART.

IF stores of dry and learned lore we gain,
We keep them in the memory of the brain;
Names, things, and facts, whate'er we knowl-

edge call,

There is the common ledger for them all;
And images on this cold surface traced
Make slight impression, and are soon effaced.
But we've a page, more glowing and more bright,
On which our friendship and our love to write ;
That these may never from the soul depart,
We trust them to the memory of the heart.
There is no dimming, no effacement there;
Each new pulsation keeps the record clear;
Warm, golden letters all the tablet fill,

Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands still.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

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39

And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears,
In some sweet lull of harp and song,
For earth-born spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below,
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe?

No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear;
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say?
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

DREAMS AND REALITIES.

O ROSAMOND, thou fair and good
And perfect flower of womanhood!
Thou royal rose of June!

Why didst thou droop before thy time?
Why wither in the first sweet prime?
Why didst thou die so soon?

For, looking backward through my tears On thee, and on my wasted years,

I cannot choose but say,

If thou hadst lived to be my guide,
Or thou hadst lived and I had died,
'T were better far to-day.

O child of light, O golden head!
Bright sunbeam for one moment shed
Upon life's lonely way,

Why didst thou vanish from our sight?
Could they not spare my little light
From heaven's unclouded day?

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