HOME. HERE is a land, of every land the pride, And milder moons emparadise the night; A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air. In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole; Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found? MONTGOMERY. The Homes of England. 273 THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. HE stately homes of England! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam; The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! The blessed homes of England! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! The cottage homes of England! By thousands on her plains They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves; And fearless there the lowly sleep, The free, fair homes of England! And green for ever be the groves, And bright the flowery sod, Its country and its God! HEMANS. LOVE TO PARENTS. O honour those who gave us birth, And owned by every grateful mind. Trace then the tender scenes of old, And all our infant days unfold; Yield back to sight the mother's breast, Survey her toil, her anxious care, Nor hold from memory's glad review, When pressed by sickness, pain, or grief, The Mother's Prayer. God of our life, each parent guard, And death's sad hour, oh, long retard; And heaven our mutual home at last. 275 MY MOTHER. NOEL. Y mother, my kind mother, It always makes my little heart Beat gladly and rejoice. When I am ill, it comes to me, And kindly soothes my pain; It always makes me happy, I know it is the voice of love, My mother, my dear mother, ANON. THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. AIN, O my child, I'd have thee know, And teach thee feeble strains below, Akin to theirs above. Oh, when thy lisping tongue shall read May'st thou, a little child indeed, I'll move thine ear, I'll point thine eye- Great God, the Spirit! hear the sigh Break, with thy vital beam benign, Bright o'er the human chaos shine, And sanctify my child. MRS. VOKE. A MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. HAT can a mother's heart repay, For watchful night and weary day Beside the cradle passed away, And anxious tears? To see her dear one tread the earth In life and health, and childish mirth. What can a mother's heart repay For words that heavenward point the way, To watch her little pilgrims press Along the road to holiness. |