HOME[Delivered at “Donation Party,” October 19, 1897]The sweetest word that ever trembled on human lips is the word “home.” It embraces and concentrates in itself the germs of a thousand forces of happiness, power, and progress yet to be developed from it. So long as man wanders, and, like the savage, merely gathers what grows of itself from the soil, or captures the fish of the streams, the birds of the air, and the beasts that roam the forests, he makes no progress; he bestows no labor upon, and therefore takes no interest in, that abode which he is to abandon to-morrow. It is only when he has a permanent dwelling and produces something from the earth that progress, happiness, and the home relation begin. Home is the place where character is built, where sacrifices to contribute to the happiness of others are made, and where love has taken up its abode. Love is the strongest passion of our natures and finds its happinessin sacrificing for its object; the parent for the child, the child for the parent, the sister for the brother. In this relation they are in the best possible position for moral and intellectual development; they stimulate and call out each other’s powers, energies, and affections.Infinite wisdom has declared, “It is not good for man to be alone.” There is not a more unsightly or unprofitable tree than a white pine growing alone. It is a mass of knots, knobs, short-jointed, crooked, and wind-shaken,—in short, a scrub. The lumbermen in contempt call it a bull pine. But put a thousand of them together as near as they can grow. What a change! As you enter that majestic cathedral no sunbeam can pierce, and look up at those heights,—trees straight as an arrow seventy feet to a limb,—you almost feel like uncovering in reverence. Thus with the family relation. The happiest homes are those the members of which are frequently called to sacrifice something or to deny themselves something for the others’ comforts and happiness. It is this that sweetens home. It is those who bear the burdens of life together, relying upon and trusting in each other, who get the most out of life, bear its trials withoutbeing soured by them, and rear children who arise and call them blessed—children that have real manhood—who can look danger in the eye without quailing and grapple to severe tasks without wilting, and are nobody’s servants.It is evident that home is not mere locality, that it is not defined by metes and bounds. From Gibraltar to Archangel, from Calcutta to the frozen seas, there are homes. One principle, one fruit-bud produces them all. Home is not a thing that can be bought or sold in the market. You may buy a homestead or a house, you may perhaps buy a wife, but you cannot buy a woman’s love. Costly furniture, rich dresses, retinues of servants, and luxurious dishes do not make homes. It is not the residence but the affection of the occupants that constitutes the home. Those who are united in the bonds of a true affection behold themselves reflected in each other, and each is to the other as another self. In the confidence of love there is repose.My friends and neighbors, this assembly is made up of those who have been reared and have reared others in homes where parental love and filial affection were the mainspringsof action and the foundation of charitable and friendly acts. The desire to share with others the gifts a kindly Providence bestows on ourselves is bred in the atmosphere of home. All the sweet charities of life are but the overflow of these feelings and sympathies born and bred at the domestic hearthstone.I thank you, my friends and neighbors, for the gifts of affection bestowed this night, and may the blessing of God rest upon yourselves, your children, and your homes.
[Delivered at “Donation Party,” October 19, 1897]
The sweetest word that ever trembled on human lips is the word “home.” It embraces and concentrates in itself the germs of a thousand forces of happiness, power, and progress yet to be developed from it. So long as man wanders, and, like the savage, merely gathers what grows of itself from the soil, or captures the fish of the streams, the birds of the air, and the beasts that roam the forests, he makes no progress; he bestows no labor upon, and therefore takes no interest in, that abode which he is to abandon to-morrow. It is only when he has a permanent dwelling and produces something from the earth that progress, happiness, and the home relation begin. Home is the place where character is built, where sacrifices to contribute to the happiness of others are made, and where love has taken up its abode. Love is the strongest passion of our natures and finds its happinessin sacrificing for its object; the parent for the child, the child for the parent, the sister for the brother. In this relation they are in the best possible position for moral and intellectual development; they stimulate and call out each other’s powers, energies, and affections.
Infinite wisdom has declared, “It is not good for man to be alone.” There is not a more unsightly or unprofitable tree than a white pine growing alone. It is a mass of knots, knobs, short-jointed, crooked, and wind-shaken,—in short, a scrub. The lumbermen in contempt call it a bull pine. But put a thousand of them together as near as they can grow. What a change! As you enter that majestic cathedral no sunbeam can pierce, and look up at those heights,—trees straight as an arrow seventy feet to a limb,—you almost feel like uncovering in reverence. Thus with the family relation. The happiest homes are those the members of which are frequently called to sacrifice something or to deny themselves something for the others’ comforts and happiness. It is this that sweetens home. It is those who bear the burdens of life together, relying upon and trusting in each other, who get the most out of life, bear its trials withoutbeing soured by them, and rear children who arise and call them blessed—children that have real manhood—who can look danger in the eye without quailing and grapple to severe tasks without wilting, and are nobody’s servants.
It is evident that home is not mere locality, that it is not defined by metes and bounds. From Gibraltar to Archangel, from Calcutta to the frozen seas, there are homes. One principle, one fruit-bud produces them all. Home is not a thing that can be bought or sold in the market. You may buy a homestead or a house, you may perhaps buy a wife, but you cannot buy a woman’s love. Costly furniture, rich dresses, retinues of servants, and luxurious dishes do not make homes. It is not the residence but the affection of the occupants that constitutes the home. Those who are united in the bonds of a true affection behold themselves reflected in each other, and each is to the other as another self. In the confidence of love there is repose.
My friends and neighbors, this assembly is made up of those who have been reared and have reared others in homes where parental love and filial affection were the mainspringsof action and the foundation of charitable and friendly acts. The desire to share with others the gifts a kindly Providence bestows on ourselves is bred in the atmosphere of home. All the sweet charities of life are but the overflow of these feelings and sympathies born and bred at the domestic hearthstone.
I thank you, my friends and neighbors, for the gifts of affection bestowed this night, and may the blessing of God rest upon yourselves, your children, and your homes.