But hearts e'en at the altar pledged
Oft seek for love in vain,
And hungering souls are doomed to starve,
In freezing, cold disdain.
Ah, why should mortals thus refuse
To wield that grace divine,
The chief of the blest three that heaven
Gives to make life sublime.
Some make a grave mistake, and seek
Pity beyond their home;
No friend or relative on earth
Should counsel thus to roam.
Others have cultivated minds,
Are leaders in high art,
Whilst in the little things of life,
They take no kindly part.
And yet if we investigate,
It is these little things,
Which make up human happiness,
And lasting pleasure brings.
And tastes objectionable oft,
May on life's harp-strings jar,
Producing irritation
And much domestic war.
The little word in the right place,
The gentle touches, tones,
The watchful loving sympathy,
Which for so much atones,
Are potent means which moral force
Finds it the best to wield,
For 'neath their mystic influence,
Most hearts are bound to yield.
Oh! for this love that conquers self,
That binds us to our kind,
That raises us to heaven and God,
And purifies the mind!
Ecstatic, sweet, rekindling power,
Bright altar-fire sublime,
Most precious gift to mortals given,
That will outlive all time.
The Rubicon is past when wed,
And there is no retreat,
Brave hearts should then accept the lot,
Which none but they can meet.
'Tis always wise and safe to choose
The heaven directed course
Of ruling by all-conquering love,
Than by the rod of force.
Let home be made a sacred shrine,
The best, most cherished spot,
All others then will surely be
Deserted and forgot.
Each should uphold the other self,
Before the world's keen sight;
In thus upholding, each will keep
His honour doubly bright.
Like Graecian vestals who of yore
Believed no duty higher
Than tending night and day the flame
Of the celestial fire,
So let the broad world's denizens
Foster this heart-fire bright,
Which can their pilgrimage on earth
Illume with glorious light.
Domestic bliss, how beautiful!
No idol is so fair.
Set in the royalty of love,
What can with it compare?
Models of virtue are the homes
Where this blest power holds sway,
Where parents' words suffice to move
Their offspring to obey.
I know of such a happy home,
Where love-signs rarely cease,
And 'tis in very truth a throne
Of harmony and peace.
Nature's grand law of order there,
Reigns with exactness sure
The wheels of time glide smoothly through
An atmosphere so pure.