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I am far frae my hame, an' i'm weary aften whiles,
For the longed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome read more
I am far frae my hame, an' i'm weary aften whiles,
For the longed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome smiles.
One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passersby read more
One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passersby see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on the way.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
My whinstone house my castle is,
I have my own four walls.
My whinstone house my castle is,
I have my own four walls.
How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
read more
How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
Still to ourselves in every place consigned,
Our own felicity we make or find.
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores read more
Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores appeared round about 1894. With their jangling keys, nasty suits, revolting beards, moustaches and tinted spectacles, estate agents roam the land causing perturbation and despair. If you try and kill them, you're put in prison: if you try and talk to them, you vomit. There's only one thing worse than an estate agent but at least that can be safely lanced, drained and surgically dressed. Estate agents. Love them or loathe them, you'd be mad not to loathe them.
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,
And the brown bee drones i' the rose,
And read more
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,
And the brown bee drones i' the rose,
And the west is a red-streaked four-o'clock,
And summer is near its close--
It's--Oh, for the gate, and the locust lane;
And dusk, and dew, and home again!
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home
He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home
