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To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
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To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.

I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that
grovel--
Folks prefer in fact a hovel read more

I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that
grovel--
Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls.

My whinstone house my castle is,
I have my own four walls.

My whinstone house my castle is,
I have my own four walls.

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!

Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever
Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter.

Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever
Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter.

There is no place more delightful than one's own fireside.
[Lat., Nullus est locus domestica sede jucundior.]

There is no place more delightful than one's own fireside.
[Lat., Nullus est locus domestica sede jucundior.]

Home is home, though it be never so homely.

Home is home, though it be never so homely.

For a man's house is his castle.

For a man's house is his castle.

The house of every one is to him as his castle and fortress, as
well for his defence against read more

The house of every one is to him as his castle and fortress, as
well for his defence against injury and violence, as for his
repose.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.