But seek for a bosom all honest and true,

Where love once awakened will never depart; Turn, turn to that breast like the dove to its nest, And you'll find there's no home like a home in the heart.

Oh! link but one spirit that's warmly sincere,

That will heighten your pleasure and solace your care; Find a soul you may trust as the kind and the just,

And be sure the wide world holds no treasure so rare. Then the frowns of misfortune may shadow our lot, The cheek-searing tear-drops of sorrow may start, But a star never dim sheds a halo for him

Who can turn for repose to a home in the heart.

THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.

I love it, I love it! and who shall dare

To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?

I've treasured it long as a sainted prize,

I've bedewed it with tears, I've embalmed it with sighs. 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart;

Not a tie will break, not a link will start;

Would you know the spell?-a mother sat there !
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.

In childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
And gentle words that mother would give

To fit me to die, and teach me to live.

She told me that shame would never betide

With Truth for my creed and God for my guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,

As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.

I sat, and watched her many a day,

When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray;
And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible to bless her child.
Years rolled on, but the last one sped-
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled!
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in her old arm-chair.

'Tis past, 'tis past! but I gaze on it now, With quivering breath and throbbing brow: 'Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she died, And memory flows with lava tide.

Say it is folly, and deem me weak,

Whilst scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear

My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.

PUBLIC MA

ΑΓ