Home's not merely four square walls,Though with pictures hung and gilded;Home is where affection calls,Filled with shrines the heart hath builded!Home! go watch the faithful dove,Sailing 'neath the heaven above us;Home is where there's one to love!Home is where there's one to love us!Home's not merely roof and room,It needs something to endear it;Home is where the heart can bloom,Where there's some kind lip to cheer it!What is home with none to meet,None to welcome, none to greet us?Home is sweet,—and only sweet—When there's one we love to meet us.
Home's not merely four square walls,Though with pictures hung and gilded;Home is where affection calls,Filled with shrines the heart hath builded!Home! go watch the faithful dove,Sailing 'neath the heaven above us;Home is where there's one to love!Home is where there's one to love us!
Home's not merely roof and room,It needs something to endear it;Home is where the heart can bloom,Where there's some kind lip to cheer it!
What is home with none to meet,None to welcome, none to greet us?Home is sweet,—and only sweet—When there's one we love to meet us.
Beware of those who are homeless by choice! You have no hold on a human being whose affections are without a tap-root!
—Southey.
I am as homeless as the wind that moansAnd wanders through the streets.
I am as homeless as the wind that moansAnd wanders through the streets.
—Longfellow.
When I was a young man, there lived in our neighborhood one who was universally reported to be a very liberal man, and uncommonly upright in his dealings. When he had any of the produce of his farm to dispose of, he made it an invariable rule to give good measure, over good, rather more than could be required of him. One of his friends, observing him frequently doing so, questioned him why he did it, told him he gave too much, and said it would not be to his own advantage. Now mark the answer of this man. "God Almighty has permitted me but one journey through the world; and when gone I cannot return to rectify mistakes."
To be honest and faithful is to belong to the only aristocracy in the world—and the smallest.
—Israel Zangwill.
On one occasion the first Napoleon being informed that a certain army contractor had cheated the government by supplying the troops with very inferior and insufficient food, sent for him to inquire into the affair. "How is this?" said the Emperor: "I understand you have been violating your contract." "Sire," was the answer, "I must live." "No," replied the monarch, "I do not see themust. It is not necessary that you should live; but it is necessary that you should do right."
Too much assertion gives ground of suspicion; truth and honesty have no need of loud protestations.
Can any one who was present ever forget the broken voice and streaming tears with which he (Dean Stanley) told the story of two little Scotch boys, Reuben and Sandy? The story was as follows: "On a cold winter day, a gentleman in Edinburgh had, out of pity, bought a box of matches from a poor, little, shivering boy, and, as he had no pence, had given him a shilling, of which the change was to be brought to his hotel. Hours passed by, and the boy did not return. Very late in the evening a mere child came to the hotel. 'Are you the gentleman that bought the matches frae Sandy?' 'Yes.' 'Well, then, here's fourpence out o' yer' shillin'; Sandy canna come. He's verra ill. A cart ran over him and knocked him doon, and he lost his bonnet and his matches and yer sevenpence, and baith his legs are broken, and the doctor says he'll dee; and that's a'.' And then, putting down the fourpence on the table, thepoor child burst into great sobs. 'So I fed the little man,' said the narrator; 'and I went with him to see Sandy. The two little things were living almost alone; their father and mother were dead. Poor Sandy was lying on a bundle of shavings. He knew me as soon as I came in, and said,'I got the change, sir, and was coming back, and then the cart knocked me down, and both my legs were broken; and oh, Reuby, little Reuby, I am sure I am dying, and who will take care of you when I am gone? What will ye do?' 'I took his hand, and said I would always take care of Reuby. He understood me, and had just strength enough to look up as if to thank me; the light went out of his blue eyes. In a moment,
He lay within the light of God,Like a babe upon the breast,Where the wicked cease from troublingAnd the weary are at rest.'"
He lay within the light of God,Like a babe upon the breast,Where the wicked cease from troublingAnd the weary are at rest.'"
Honesty.—If he does really think that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, why sir, when he leaves our houses let us count our spoons.
—Dr. Johnson.
The birthplace of a man does him no honor,But a man may do honor to his birthplace.
The birthplace of a man does him no honor,But a man may do honor to his birthplace.
He, the Duke of Devonshire, was not a man of superior abilities, but was a man strictly faithful to his word. If, for instance, he had promised you an acorn, and none had grown that year in his woods, he would not have contented himself with that excuse: he would have sent to Denmark for it,sounconditional was he in keeping his word—so high as to the point of honor.
—Boswell's Life of Johnson.
Honor is like the eye which cannot suffer the least injury without damage; it is a precious stone, the price of which is lessened by the least flaw.
—Bossuet.
A poor man claimed a house which a rich man had seized. The former produced his deeds and instruments to prove his right, but the latter had provided a number of witnesses; and, to support their evidence the more effectually, he secretly presented the cadi with a bag containing five hundred ducats, which the cadi received. When it came to a hearing, the poor man told his story and produced his writings, but lacked witnesses. The other, provided with witnesses, laid his whole stress on them and on his adversary's defective law, who could produce none; he, therefore, urged the cadi to give sentence in his favor. After the most pressing solicitations, the judge calmly drew from beneath his sofa the bag of five hundred ducats, which the rich man had given him as a bribe, saying to him very gravely, "You have been much mistaken in the suit; for if the poor man could produce no witnesses in confirmation of his right, I, myself, can furnish him with at least five hundred." He threw him the bag with reproach and indignation and decreed the house to the poor plaintiff.
What greater ornament is there to a son than a father's glory; or what to a father than a son's honorable conduct?
The honor is overpaid,When he that did the act is commentator.
The honor is overpaid,When he that did the act is commentator.
—Shirley.
By Hook or Crook.—This saying is probably derived from a forest custom. Persons entitled to fuel wood in the king's forest were only authorized to take it of the dead wood or branches of trees in the forest, "with a cart, a hook, and a crook."
—From Mulledulcia.
Who bids me hope, and in that charming wordHas peace and transport to my soul restor'd.
Who bids me hope, and in that charming wordHas peace and transport to my soul restor'd.
—Lord Lyttleton.
In all things it is better to hope than to despair.
—Goethe.
How often disappointment tracksThe steps of hope!
How often disappointment tracksThe steps of hope!
—Miss Landon.
He that lives upon hopes will die fasting.
Hoping is the finest sort of courage and you can never have enough of it.
—C. Wagner.
Who loses money, loses much;Who loses friends, loses more;Who loses hope, loses all: for he that wants hope is the poorest man alive.
Who loses money, loses much;Who loses friends, loses more;Who loses hope, loses all: for he that wants hope is the poorest man alive.
Were it no for hope the heart wad break.
—Scotch.
Our hopes often end in—hopes.
The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone.
—Longfellow.
Hope is sometimes a delusion; no hand can grasp a wave or a shadow.
So we do but live,There's hope.
So we do but live,There's hope.
—Terence.
Hope.—"Hast thou hope?" they asked of John Knox, when he lay a-dying. He spoke nothing, but "raised his finger and pointed upward," and so died.
—Carlyle.
You must come home with me and be my guest;You will give joy to me, and I will doAll that is in my power to honor you.
You must come home with me and be my guest;You will give joy to me, and I will doAll that is in my power to honor you.
—P. B. Shelley.
All our sweetest hours fly fastest.
—Virgil.
We leaveOur home in youth—no matter to what end—Study—or strife—or pleasure, or what not;And coming back in few short years, we findAll as we left it outside: the old elms,The house, the grass, gates, and latchet's self-same click:But, lift that latchet,—Alas! all is changed as doom.
We leaveOur home in youth—no matter to what end—Study—or strife—or pleasure, or what not;And coming back in few short years, we findAll as we left it outside: the old elms,The house, the grass, gates, and latchet's self-same click:But, lift that latchet,—Alas! all is changed as doom.
—Bailey: Festus.
Lady, the sun's light to our eyes is dear,And fair the tranquil reaches of the sea,And flowery earth in May, and bounding waters;And so right many fair things I might praise;Yet nothing is so radiant and so fairAs for souls childless, with desire sore-smitten,To see the light of babes about the house.
Lady, the sun's light to our eyes is dear,And fair the tranquil reaches of the sea,And flowery earth in May, and bounding waters;And so right many fair things I might praise;Yet nothing is so radiant and so fairAs for souls childless, with desire sore-smitten,To see the light of babes about the house.
—Euripides.
Often, old houses mended,Cost more than new, before they're ended.
Often, old houses mended,Cost more than new, before they're ended.
—Colley Cibber.
Though we should be grateful for good homes, there is no house like God's out-of-doors.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
Boswell: "I happened to start a question, whether, when a man knows that some of his intimate friends are invited to the house of another friend with whom they are all equally intimate, he may join them without an invitation." Johnson: "No, sir, he is not to go when he is not invited. They may be invited on purpose to abuse him"—smiling.
Houses are built to live in more than to look on; therefore let use be preferred before uniformity, except where both may be had.
—Bacon.
It's an unhappy household where all the smiles are dispensed in society and all the frowns at home.
He has no religion who has no humanity.
Our humanity were a poor thing, but for the Divinity that stirs within us.
—Bacon.
With the humble there is perpetual peace.
—Shakespeare.
When you see an ear of corn holding itself very high (or a human head) you may be sure there is nothing in it. The full ear is the lowliest; the full head the most humble.
Humility is the root, mother, nurse, foundation, and bond of all virtue.
—Chrysostom.
Hunger is the mother of impatience and anger.
—Zimmerman.
They must hunger in frost who spring-time have lost.
—German.
The full stomach cannot comprehend the hungry one.
Wait is a hard word to the hungry.
—From the German.
Faithful—as dog, the lonely shepherd's pride;True—as the helm, the bark's protecting guide;Firm—as the shaft that props the towering dome;Sweet—as to shipwreck'd seaman land and home;Lovely—as child, a parent's sole delight;Radiant—as morn, that breaks a stormy night;Grateful—as streams, that, in some deep recess,With rills unhoped the panting traveler bless,Is he that links with mine his chain of life,Names himself lord, and deigns to call me wife.
Faithful—as dog, the lonely shepherd's pride;True—as the helm, the bark's protecting guide;Firm—as the shaft that props the towering dome;Sweet—as to shipwreck'd seaman land and home;Lovely—as child, a parent's sole delight;Radiant—as morn, that breaks a stormy night;Grateful—as streams, that, in some deep recess,With rills unhoped the panting traveler bless,Is he that links with mine his chain of life,Names himself lord, and deigns to call me wife.
—Aeschylus.
Between husband and wife there should be no question as to material interests. All things should be in common between them without any distinction or means of distinguishing.
A Scottish youth learned, with a pious mother, to sing the old psalms that were then as household words to them in the kirk (church) and by the fireside. When he had grown up he wandered away from his native country, was taken captive by the Turks, and made a slave in one of the Barbary States. But he never forgot the songs of Zion, although he sang them in a strange land and to heathen ears.
One night he was solacing himself in this manner when the attention of some sailors on board of a British man-of-war was directed to the familiar tune of "Old Hundred" as it came floating over the moonlit waves.
At once they surmised the truth that one of their countrymen was languishing away his life as a captive. Quickly arming themselves, they manned a boat and lost no time in effecting his release. What joy to him after eighteen long years passed in slavery! Is it strange that he ever afterwards cherished the glorious tune of "Old Hundred?"
—Old Magazine.
The I is worthy of aversion when it is principally confined to the person who uses it.
—Pascal.
What am I?Naught! But the effluence of Thy light divinePervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too.Yes, in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.Naught! But I live, and on Hope's pinions flyEager toward Thy presence; for in Thee,I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high,Even to the throne of Thy divinity.I am, O God, and surely Thou must be!
What am I?Naught! But the effluence of Thy light divinePervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too.Yes, in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.Naught! But I live, and on Hope's pinions flyEager toward Thy presence; for in Thee,I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high,Even to the throne of Thy divinity.I am, O God, and surely Thou must be!
—Sir John Bowring's translation ofDerzhavin's "Ode to God."
Ideas are like beards; men do not have them until they grow up.
A young man idle, an old man needy.
Labor is the divine law of our existence; repose is desertion and suicide.
If you want anything done, go to a busy man;Man of leisure never has time to do anything.
If you want anything done, go to a busy man;Man of leisure never has time to do anything.
Lose this day loitering—'twill be the same storyTo-morrow, and the next more dilatory.
Lose this day loitering—'twill be the same storyTo-morrow, and the next more dilatory.
—Goethe.
If any man wish to escape idleness let him fall in love.
Better lose your labor than your time in idleness.
—Dutch.
Idleness must thank itself if it go barefoot.
—From the German.
I would not waste my spring of youthIn idle dalliance; I would plant rich seeds,To blossom in my manhood and bear fruitWhen I am old.
I would not waste my spring of youthIn idle dalliance; I would plant rich seeds,To blossom in my manhood and bear fruitWhen I am old.
—Hillhouse.
Never remain ignorant for the want of asking questions.
Ignorance is often a voluntary misfortune.
—From the French.
Rather bear the ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of.
Rather bear the ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of.
—Shakespeare.
Man's ills are in the main of his own seeking.
Those who imitate us we like much better than those who endeavor to equal us. Imitation is a sign of esteem, competition of envy.
It must be so—Plato, thou reasonest well!—Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,This longing after immortality?Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soulBack on herself, and startles at destruction?'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,And intimates eternity to man.The stars shall fade away, the sun himselfGrow dim with age, and nature sink in years,But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,Unhurt amidst the war of elements,The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
It must be so—Plato, thou reasonest well!—Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,This longing after immortality?Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soulBack on herself, and startles at destruction?'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,And intimates eternity to man.The stars shall fade away, the sun himselfGrow dim with age, and nature sink in years,But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,Unhurt amidst the war of elements,The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
—Addison.
Impertinence.—That man is guilty of impertinence who considers not the circumstances of time, or engrosses the conversation, or makes himself the subject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the company he is in.
—Fully.
Airs of importance are often the credentials of insignificance.
—Lavater.
Live within your income. Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let your imports be more than your exports, and you'll never go far wrong.
—Dr. Johnson.
All men are not susceptible to improvement.
It is better to have nothing to do than to be doing nothing.
—Attilus.
Men of all ages have the same inclinations, over which reason exercises no control. Thus, wherever men are found, there are the same follies.
—Fontenelle.
What madness to carry all one's income on one's back.
Our incomes are like our shoes; if too small, they gall and pinch us; but if too large, they cause us to stumble and to trip.
—Colton.
Fickleness.—Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro, as this Mr. —— ——?
—Shakespeare.
Mankind is made up of inconsistencies.
Lose this day loitering, 'twill be the same storyTo-morrow, and the next more dilatory;True indecision brings its own delays.And days are lost, lamenting over days.Are you in earnest? Seize the very minute;What you can do, or think you can, begin it;Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.Only begin it and the mind grows heated;Begin it, and the work will be completed.—
Lose this day loitering, 'twill be the same storyTo-morrow, and the next more dilatory;True indecision brings its own delays.And days are lost, lamenting over days.Are you in earnest? Seize the very minute;What you can do, or think you can, begin it;Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.Only begin it and the mind grows heated;Begin it, and the work will be completed.—
—Goethe.
I hate dependence on another's will,Which changes with the breath of ev'ry whisper,Just as the sky and weather with the winds:With the winds, as they blow east or west,To make his temper pleasant or unpleasant.
I hate dependence on another's will,Which changes with the breath of ev'ry whisper,Just as the sky and weather with the winds:With the winds, as they blow east or west,To make his temper pleasant or unpleasant.
—Crown.
If any man can do without the world, it is certain the world can do quite as well without him.
—Hazlitt.
Living to-day on tomorrow's salary is a sure sign of financial indigestion.
Seek not every quality in one individual.
That is the best gown that goes most up and down the house.
I like the man who faces what he must,With steps triumphant and a heart of cheer;Who fights the daily battle without fear;Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trustThat God is God, that somehow, true and just,His plans work out for mortals; not a tearIs shed when fortune, which the world holds dear,Falls from his grasp; better with love a crustThan living in dishonor; envies not,Nor loses faith in man; but does his best,Nor murmurs at his humble lot;But with a smile and words of hope, give zestTo every toiler. He alone is greatWho by a life heroic conquers fate.
I like the man who faces what he must,With steps triumphant and a heart of cheer;Who fights the daily battle without fear;Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trustThat God is God, that somehow, true and just,His plans work out for mortals; not a tearIs shed when fortune, which the world holds dear,Falls from his grasp; better with love a crustThan living in dishonor; envies not,Nor loses faith in man; but does his best,Nor murmurs at his humble lot;But with a smile and words of hope, give zestTo every toiler. He alone is greatWho by a life heroic conquers fate.
—Sarah K. Bolton.
The smiles of infants are said to be the first-fruits of human reason.
—Hudson.
The hour arrives, the moment wished and feared,The child is born, by many a pang endeared;And now the mother's ear has caught his cry;O! grant the cherub to her asking eye!He comes, she clasps him, to her bosom pressed,He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.She, by her smile, how soon the stranger knows;How soon by his the glad discovery shows!As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,What answering looks of sympathy and joy!He walks—he speaks—in many a broken word,His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard;And ever, ever to her lap he flies,Where rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise,Locked in her arms, his arms across her flung,That name most dear forever on his tongue.As with soft accents round her neck he clings,And cheek to cheek her lulling song she sings,How blest to feel the beating of his heart,Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart,Watch o'er his slumbers, like the brooding dove,And if she can, exhaust a mother's love!
The hour arrives, the moment wished and feared,The child is born, by many a pang endeared;And now the mother's ear has caught his cry;O! grant the cherub to her asking eye!He comes, she clasps him, to her bosom pressed,He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.She, by her smile, how soon the stranger knows;How soon by his the glad discovery shows!As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,What answering looks of sympathy and joy!He walks—he speaks—in many a broken word,His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard;And ever, ever to her lap he flies,Where rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise,Locked in her arms, his arms across her flung,That name most dear forever on his tongue.As with soft accents round her neck he clings,And cheek to cheek her lulling song she sings,How blest to feel the beating of his heart,Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart,Watch o'er his slumbers, like the brooding dove,And if she can, exhaust a mother's love!
—FromLittell'sLiving Age.
A hound, who in the days of his youth and strength had never yielded to any beast of the forest, encountered in his old age a boar in the chase. He seized him boldly by the ear, but could not retain his hold because of the decay of his teeth, so that the boar escaped. His master, quickly coming up, fiercely abused the dog. The hound looked up and said: "It was not my fault, master; my spirit was as good as ever, but I could not help mine infirmities. I rather deserve to be praised for what I have been, than to be blamed for what I am."
"On a cold winter evening," said Dr. T. L. Cuyler recently, "I made my first call on a rich merchant in New York. As I left the door and the piercing gale swept in, I said:
"What an awful night for the poor?
"He said come back for a moment; and in a very few minutes brought me a roll of bank bills, and said:
"Please hand these for me to the poorest people you know.
"After a few days I wrote him the grateful thanks of the poor whom his bounty had relieved, and added:
"How is it that a man so kind to his fellow creatures has always been so unkind to his Saviour as to refuse him his heart?
"That sentence touched him to the core.
"He sent for me to come and talk to him, and speedily gave himself to Christ. He has been a most useful Christian ever since. But he told me I was the first person who had talked to him about his soul in twenty years. One hour of work did more for that man than the pulpit effort of a life-time."
—Selected.
It is reported that a young man being examined preparatory to joining the church was asked—"Under whose preaching?" The prompt reply—"I was converted under my mother's practising." Did any preacher ever utter so powerful a sermon as the young man embodied in those few words?
It is a common thing for men to hate the authors of their preferment, as the witnesses of their mean original.
At the first entrance into thy estate keep a low sail; thou mayest rise with honor; thou canst not decline without shame; he that begins as his father ended, will be apt to end as his father began.
Some grave their wrongs on marble; He more just,Stooped down serene, and wrote them on the dust;Trod under foot, the sport of every wind,Swept from the earth, and blotted from His mind;There, secret in the grave, He bade them lie,And grieved they could not escape the Almighty's eye.
Some grave their wrongs on marble; He more just,Stooped down serene, and wrote them on the dust;Trod under foot, the sport of every wind,Swept from the earth, and blotted from His mind;There, secret in the grave, He bade them lie,And grieved they could not escape the Almighty's eye.
One is keen to suspect a quarter from which one has once received a hurt. "A burnt child dreads the fire."
The noblest remedy for injuries is oblivion.
—From the French.
Hath any wronged thee?Be bravely revenged;Slight it, and the work is begun;Forgive it, and 'tis finished.He is below himself who is not above an injury.
Hath any wronged thee?Be bravely revenged;Slight it, and the work is begun;Forgive it, and 'tis finished.He is below himself who is not above an injury.
A man hurts himself by injuring me: what, then shall I therefore hurt myself by injuring him?
Ink—Described:—The colored slave that waits upon thought; a drop may make a million think.
—Byron.
The innocent are gay.
—Cowper.
There is no real courage in innocence.
What narrow innocence it is for one to be good only according to the law.
—Seneca.
Better confide and be deceiv'dA thousand times by treacherous foes,Than once accuse the innocentOr let suspicion mar repose.
Better confide and be deceiv'dA thousand times by treacherous foes,Than once accuse the innocentOr let suspicion mar repose.
It is only the vulgar who are always fancying themselves insulted. If a man treads on another's toe in good society, do you think it is taken as an insult?
I once met a man who had forgiven an injury. I hope some day to meet the man who has forgiven an insult.
The borough of Hull, in the reign of Charles II, chose Andrew Marvell, a young gentleman of little or no fortune, and maintained him in London for the service of thepublic. With a view to bribe him, his old school-fellow, the Lord Treasurer Danby, went to him in his garret. At parting, the Lord Treasurer slipped into his hands an order upon the treasury for £1000, and then went into his chariot. Marvell looking at the paper, called after the treasurer—"My lord, I request another moment." They went up again to the garret, and the servant boy was called—"What had I for dinner yesterday?" "Don't you remember, sir, you had the little shoulder of mutton that you ordered me to bring from a woman in the market?" "Very right. What have I for dinner today?" "Don't you know, sir, that you made me lay up the blade-bone to broil?" "'Tis so; very right. Go away." "My lord, do you hear that? Andrew Marvell's dinner is provided; there's your piece of paper, I want it not. I knew the sort of kindness you intended. I live here to serve my constituents. The ministry may seek men for their purpose; I am not one."
Integrity is to be preferred to eloquence.
—Aeschines.
The integrity of men is to be measured by their conduct, not by their professions.
—Junius.
One of dull intellect cannot come in, nor go away, nor sit, nor rise, nor stand, like a man of sense.
—La Bruyere.
God has placed no limits to the exercise of the intellect he has given us, on this side of the grave.
—Bacon.