True Love Begins at Home
By T. R. Williamson
HOME is the door whence our best blessings flow,
And they who, like that Roman dame of old,
Prize home's wealth first, they best can feel and know
How to reach kindly hands into the cold
Of this great world, and call the wanderer back,
And bear God's message far across the seas,
Where Arabs cower in the simoon's track,
Or billows harden in the Arctic breeze. True love begins at home. The children dear
Whom God has sent to cheer my earthly way,
Clasp tendril hands about my nature here,
And link me fast to others far away.
What easy lessons God gives first to learn!
Love father, mother, sister, brother, friend,
And wife and children; then may we discern
To love our neighbors to the great earth's
end. True love begins at home, and, reaching
thence,
Twines sympathetic arms round all our
race,
And fills our interval of time and sense
With airs from heaven, its native dwelling-
place.
Love's royal banner floats above our heads;
Beneath its folds majestic do we rest.
Home's window-star its radiance outward
sheds,—
Come in, lone heart, be thou a welcome
guest.
— T. R. Williamson.