<h3><SPAN name="A_Happy_Life" id="A_Happy_Life"></SPAN>A Happy Life.</h3>
<table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How happy is he born and taught<br/></span>
<span class="i2">That serveth not another's will;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose armour is his honest thought,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And simple truth his utmost skill!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Whose passions not his master's are,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Whose soul is still prepared for death,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Not tied unto the world with care<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Of public fame, or private breath.<br/></span></div>
</td></tr></table>
<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Sir Henry Wotton.</span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="Home_Sweet_Home" id="Home_Sweet_Home"></SPAN>Home, Sweet Home!</h3>
<div class="pre_poem"><p>"Home, Sweet Home" (John Howard Payne, 1791-1852) is a poem that
reaches into the heart. What is home? A place where we experience
independence, safety, privacy, and where we can dispense hospitality.
"The family is the true unit."</p>
</div>
<table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.<br/></span>
<span class="i6">Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There's no place like Home! there's no place like Home!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">An exile from Home, splendour dazzles in vain;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The birds singing gaily, that came at my call,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Give me them,—and the peace of mind, dearer than all!<br/></span>
<span class="i6">Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There's no place like Home! there's no place like Home!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Let others delight 'mid new pleasures to roam,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of Home!<br/></span>
<span class="i6">Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There's no place like Home! there's no place like Home!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No more from that cottage again will I roam;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be it ever so humble, there's no place like Home.<br/></span>
<span class="i6">Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There's no place like Home! there's no place like Home!<br/></span></div>
</td></tr></table>
<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">John Howard Payne.</span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="From_Casa_Guidi_Windows" id="From_Casa_Guidi_Windows"></SPAN>From Casa Guidi Windows.</h3>
<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Juliet Of Nations.</span></p>
<table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I heard last night a little child go singing<br/></span>
<span class="i2">'Neath Casa Guidi windows, by the church,<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>O bella libertà, O bella!</i>—stringing<br/></span>
<span class="i2">The same words still on notes he went in search<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So high for, you concluded the upspringing<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Of such a nimble bird to sky from perch<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Must leave the whole bush in a tremble green,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And that the heart of Italy must beat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While such a voice had leave to rise serene<br/></span>
<span class="i2">'Twixt church and palace of a Florence street;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A little child, too, who not long had been<br/></span>
<span class="i2">By mother's finger steadied on his feet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And still <i>O bella libertà</i> he sang.<br/></span></div>
</td></tr></table>
<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="Woodman_Spare_That_Tree" id="Woodman_Spare_That_Tree"></SPAN>Woodman, Spare That Tree!</h3>
<div class="pre_poem"><p>"Woodman, Spare That Tree" (by George Pope Morris, 1802-64) is included
in this collection because I have loved it all my life, and I never
knew any one who could or would offer a criticism upon it. Its value
lies in its recognition of childhood's pleasures.</p>
</div>
<table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Woodman, spare that tree!<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Touch not a single bough!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In youth it sheltered me,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And I'll protect it now.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Twas my forefather's hand<br/></span>
<span class="i2">That placed it near his cot;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There, woodman, let it stand,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Thy ax shall harm it not.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">That old familiar tree,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Whose glory and renown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Are spread o'er land and sea—<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And wouldst thou hew it down?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Woodman, forbear thy stroke!<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Cut not its earth-bound ties;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, spare that agèd oak<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Now towering to the skies!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When but an idle boy,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">I sought its grateful shade;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In all their gushing joy<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Here, too, my sisters played.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My mother kissed me here;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">My father pressed my hand—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Forgive this foolish tear,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">But let that old oak stand.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My heart-strings round thee cling,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Close as thy bark, old friend!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Here shall the wild-bird sing,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And still thy branches bend.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Old tree! the storm still brave!<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And, woodman, leave the spot;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While I've a hand to save,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Thy ax shall harm it not.<br/></span></div>
</td></tr></table>
<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">George Pope Morris.</span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />