Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 343, 22 January 1866, Page 1

Select Poetry.

HOME.

JfayHEBE bums the lov’d hearth brightest Visit Cheering the social breast? Where beats the fond heart lightest. Its humble hopes possessed? Where is the smile of sadness Of meek-eyed patience born? Worth more than those of gladness, Which mirth’s bright cheek adorn: Pleasure is marked by fieetness To those who blindly roam. While grief itself has sweetness At Home, dear Home.

There blend the ties that strengthen Our hearts in hours oi grief, The silver links that lengthen Joy's visit when most brief, There, eyes in all their splendour Are vocal to the heart, And voices gay and tender Fresh eloquence impart, Then dost thou sigh for pleasure? Oh! do not blindly roam; But seek that hidden treasure At Home, dear Home.

Does pure religion cliarm thee. Far more than aught below ? Wouldst thou that she should arm thee Against the hour of woe ? Think not she dwelleth only In temples made for prayer, For Home tjself were lonely Without her presence there; The devotee may falter, The bigot blindly roam, If worshipless his altar, At Home, dear Home.

Dove over it presideth. With, meek and watchful care. Its holy service guideth, And shews its presence there. If there thy faith shall fail thee— If there no shrine he found— What can thy prayers avail theo With kneeling crowds around? Go 1 leave thy gilts unoffered Before religions dome, And he her first fruits proffered At Home, dear Home.

Bernard Barton.