The sweetest type of heaven is home - nay, heaven is the home for whose acquisition we are to strive the most strongly. Home, in one form and another, is the great object of life. It stands at the end of every day's labor, and beckons us to its bosom; an life would be cheerless and meaningless, did we not discern across the river that divides us from the life beyond, glimpses of the pleasant mansions prepared for us.
Communion is the law of growth, and homes only thrive when they sustain relations with each other.
No genuine observer can decide otherwise than that the homes of a nation are the bulwarks of personal and national safety and thrift.
The pleasant converse of the fireside, the simple songs of home, the words of encouragement as I bend over my school-tasks, the kiss as I lie down to rest, the patient bearing with the freaks of my restless nature, the gentle counsels mingled with reproofs and approvals, the sympathy that meets and assuages every sorrow, and sweetens every little success--all these return to me amid the responsibilities which press upon me now, and I feel as if I had once lived in heaven, and, straying, had lost my way.
The man who loves home best, and loves it most unselfishly, loves his country best.
No nation can be destroyed while it possesses a good home life.
A man who in the struggles of life has no home to retire to, in fact or in memory, is without life's best rewards and life's best defences.
In the homes of America are born the children of America; and from them go out into American life, American men and women. They go out with the stamp of these homes upon them; and only as these homes are what they should be, will they be what they should be.
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