True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-01-04
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HOME.

IhlS IS a sweet W0fd. w no Is not cnarln-
ed with its music? Who hath not felt the
potent magic of its spell?
By home, I do not mean the house, the
parlor, the freside, the carpet Or the chairs.
They are inert, material things, which de-
rive all thGir interest from the idea of the
Home whish is their locality. Homo is
something more ethereal, less tangible, not
easily described, yet strongly conceived;
the source of some of the deepest emotions
ofthe soul, grasping the heart-strings which
such a sweet and tender force, as subdues
all within the range of its influence.
Home is the palace of the husband and
the father. He is the monarch of that
little empire wearing crown that is the
gift of Heaven, swaying sccptre put into
his hands by the Father of all, ackuowl-
edging no SUPERIOR fearing no rival, and
dreading no usurper In him dwells love
the ruling spirit of home. She that was
the fond bride of his youthful heart, is the
affectionate wife of maturer years.
The star that shone on their bridal eve,
has never set. Its rays still shed serene
lustre on the horizon of home. There, too,
is the additional ornament of home the
circle of children, beautifully represented
by the spirit Of inspiration, as 'olive plants
round about the table We have been
such. There was our cradle;-that cradle
was rocked by hand ever open to supply
our wants, watched by an eye ever awake
to the approach of danger. Many live
long night has that eye refused to be closed
for thy sake, reader, when thou, a helpless
child, was indebted to a mothers love, sane
tilted by heavens blessing, for prolonged
existence through sickly infancy. Hast
thou ever grieycd for that fond heart? No
tears can be too freely, too sincerely shed
for an offence against the sweet charities
Of home. If there was joy in the palace
at thy birth, oh, never let it be turned in
to sorrow by any violation of the sacred
laws of home,
We that had our happy birth, like most
of the human race, in the country, can re-
call many tendcr. and pleasant associations
of home. There is earnest poetry in this
part of our life. We remember with de-
light the fres shness of early morn; the tune.
full and spightly walk among the dewy
fields; the copl repose amid the sequcstred
shades of the grove, vocal with the music
of natures inimitable warblers; and the
thinking spring where we slaked our
thirst with the pure pellucd waters as they
came from the hand of the Mighty One
the bleatingo of the 1ocks, the lowing of the
herds, the humming of the bee, the cry oI
the whippoiwill, the melancholy monoton.
Gus song Of the night-bird, relieved only by
the deep bass of that single note, which he
uttered as he plunged from his lofty height
into lower region of atmosphere-thcse
are among the rccollections of home. And
they come softened and sobered through
the medium of the past, without losing
their power to touch the heart and still en-
dear that word HOME.
There too, perhaps we saw a father die
having attained to patriarchal age, he
bowed himself on his bed, saying, Behold
I die, but God shall be with you,' and wa.
gathered to his people. Nor can the mem
ory ever forget that mother in her meel
and quiet age, walking through many {
peaceful year on the verge of heaven
breathing its atmosphere, inhaling its fra
GRANGE, and rejecting its light and hol,
beauty, till at length she left the swce
home of earth for her Fathers home il
Heaven.
$50 gently dies the wave upon the Shore"
Home, too, is the scene of the gay AM
joyous bridal. When the lovely daughter
af6anced to the youth of her heart, stand
up to take her irrevocable pledge. Wha
an interesting moment I saw not lon