HOME.
Man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets.—Ecclesiastes, xii. 5.
And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house.—Luke, ix. 61.
Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord.—II. Corinthians, v. 6.
Death is, no doubt, in every place the same;
Yet nature casts a look towards home, and most,
Who have it in their power, choose to expire
Where first they drew their breath.
Lillo.
’Twas early day, and sunlight streamed
Soft through a quiet room,
That hushed, but not forsaken seemed,
Still, but with nought of gloom.
For there, secure in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,
A father communed with the page
Of heaven-recorded love.
Pure fell the beam and meekly bright
On his gray holy hair,
And touched the book with tenderest light,
As if its shrine were there.
But, oh, that patriarch’s aspect shone
With something lovelier far;
A radiance all the spirit’s own,
Caught not from sun or star.
Some word of life e’en then had met
His calm benignant eye,
Some ancient promise breathing yet
Of immortality.
Some heart’s deep language, where the glow
Of quenchless faith survives;
For every feature said, “I know
And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity
Of thoughts o’ersweeping death.
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.
How sweet, bow consoling, when seasons of gloom
Roll over the soul like the billowy spray,
To view in the mansions of Heaven a home,
Where sorrow and sighing shall vanish away.
W. J. Brock.
And in our home above there is a friend,
More tender, true, more loving and sincere,
Who knows each want, and every help will lend
Our souls, through this world’s misery to steer;
In danger’s path is present, ever near,
Allures to brighter worlds, hath cleared the way,
Will wipe from every cheek the sinner’s tear,
Deigns in our hearts to claim a peaceful sway,
And leads us to our homes in realms of endless day.
Stuart Farquharson.