The Houston daily post. [volume] (Houston, Tex.) 1886-1903, 1897-01-11
HOME.

yet II never wcarics and never grows stale.
In tho hearts OF the English race. perhaps
above all others, the word home. among
those who have felt It's real meaning. la as
sociated with whatever is sweetest and
pnrest in life. We think OF home as the
scat of all gentle infiuences---pe peace. love.
happiness and unselfish delights. The
locts have never tired OF singing It's
praises, and one OF them has told us In
homely but pathetic verse that be It ever
SO humble. there's no place like home"
But clcrgymen, medical men. policemen
and district visitors could possibly tell US
another tale. Byron wrote:
. 'ris sweet to hear the watch dogs honest
bark
Bay deep mouthed welcome as We draw
near home.
IT'S sweet to know there Is an eye will
Our coming, and look brighter when we
come
This was a patrician poets view. Burns
gives the PEASANTS:
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily,
His clean hearthstune. his thrittie wifies
smile.
The lisping infant prattling on his knee.
Docs a his weary cnrking cares beguilc.
An makes him quite forget his labour and
his toll"
To have ones home broken up. to losc
or to be without home, are each signiti.
cant OF the greatest misery that can hap
pen. These extort the profoundcst pity.
When Longfellow writes OF the burning OF
GrandPre. he says OF its people. 'HFrend
less. homeless, hopeless. they wandered
from city to city" When. however he
pictures the innocent and happy Evangclino
returning from church, he says:
"IIomeward sercncly she walked with Gods
benedction upon her
When She had passed II seemed like tho
coasing OF exquisite music
but towards the homeless ones. the for
Torn, the outcast. and even those whose
| follies or vices have brought them to this
condition, the poets. Interpreting it's own
heart to humanity. have been infinitely
tender Kirkc White wrote poem OF nine
| stan1as ON The Prostitute"
| Destined to panper the vicious ones ap-
petite.
Spurnel by the being who lurcd thee from
innocence,
Thou hast no friends. for they with thy
virtue fled
Thou art an outcast from house md from.
happiness,
| Wandcring alone on the wide worlds uu-
feeling stage"
And then contrasting the lot of the once
innocent girl with that of her hcartless Sc
Queer, he concludes
Now he perhaps is reclined on a bed oil
| down;
But # n wretch like him sleeps In security
God OF the RID right arm. Where is thy
thunderbolt?"
James Russell Lowell also wrote at mucl
greater length on the same subject. Th'
rorlorn." IT is a dark and bitter night o
| "stinging slcot," and
"Onc poor. broken hearted. outcast girl
Faces the east Winds searching flaws
Peneeth the windows of n warm and cos!
home
"She hears womans voice within.
Singing sweet words her childhood knew
And years Of misery and sin
Furl off, and leave her heaven blue
with the song old times aud old thought
return TO the dying woman;
"Enhaloed by mild. warm glow,
From all humanity apart
She hears old footsteps wandering slow.
Through the lone chambers OF her heart
And when next morning, from sin an'
sorrow free. woman OH the threshold lay
Lowell beautifully moralises on the powe
Of that hitherto forgotten music of he
childhood which had cleansed the soul o
the pcrshing outcast. ard
!
To close the lids upon the eyes
OF the polluted and fororn -
The slave in his dreams thinks OF home
children stand Tho exile from Erii
asks
"Wbere is my cabin door fast by the wild
| wood
Whore is the mother that looked ON m.
chlldhood?'
The soldier sleeping on the battle flel'
flies to the pleasant fields traversed 81
oft in life's morning march when his bosom
was young
Our late great Laureate makes tho boil
SIR BcdIvcre" say to his dying prince
"Ah. my Lord Arthur, whittier shall | 20
| Where shall | hide my forehead and m
eyes?
For now see the true old times are dead
when every morning brought noble
| chance,
And every chance brought out nobl
knight
But now the whole round table Is dissolved
Which was an image of tho mighty world
And !. the last. go forth companionless.
And the days darken round Inc, and IN
years,
Among new men. strange faces, othe
minds"
A home IL the place where those Wit
love meet together in private communion
the place where they can unbcnd and b
at ease among those who are dearest 4
thom. Horne Tookc tells us hat the wor
is the past particlple of the Anglo 'saxo
vorb haeman, TO come together. But as w
have seen, we have invested II with
thousand tender associations, when max
IL the symbol OF domestic felicity.
Yet. in every social sphere We ray In,
that there are thousands Of houses whicl
are only homes in name. all the element
Of harmony and unity being absent. AM
when we consider how sacred and far