THE HEARTH OF HOME.

The storm around my dwelling sweeps, And while the dry boughs fierce it reaps, My heart within a vigil keeps, The warm and cheering hearth beside; And as I mark the kindling glow Brightly o’er all its radiance throw, Back to the years my memories flow, When Rome sat on her hills in pride; When every stream and grove and tree And fountain had its deity. The hearth was then, ’mong low and great, Unto the Lares consecrate: The youth arrived to man’s estate There offered up his golden heart; Thither, when overwhelmed with dread, The stranger still for refuge fled, Was kindly cheered, and warmed, and fed, Till he might fearless thence depart: And there the slave, a slave no more, Hung reverent up the chain he wore. Full many a change the hearth hath known; The Druid fire, the curfew’s tone, The log that bright at yule-tide shone, The merry sports of Hallow-e’en; Yet still where’er a home is found, Gather the warm affections round, And there the notes of mirth resound, The voice of wisdom heard between: And welcomed there with words of grace, The stranger finds a resting place. Oh! wheresoe’er our feet may roam, Still sacred is the hearth of home; Whether beneath the princely dome, Or peasant’s lowly roof it be, For home the wanderer ever yearns; Backward to where its hearth-fire burns, Like to the wife of old, he turns Ever the eyes of memory. Back where his heart he offered first— Back where his fond young hopes he nursed. My humble hearth though all disdain, Here may I cast aside the chain The world hath coldly on me lain; Here to my Lares offer up The warm prayer of a grateful heart; Thou that my household guardian art, That dost to me thine aid impart, And with thy mercy fill’st my cup; Strengthen the hope within my soul, Till I in faith may reach the goal.