A trinity of sweet words; for where love is, there is rest and home. There is no true home where love and rest are not. There is no true rest outside of love that maketh home. And as one of a trinity cannot be mentioned without the sentiment of the other two blending with and sweetening—as the rose's fragrance, though unremembered, helps always to make up our thought of the rose, so when we speak the word "Home" and say that it is the sweetest of all words, it is because, spoken in its truest significance, it means to us love and rest.
"I am deeply home-sick," wrote Margaret Fuller, "but where is that home? If not on earth, why should we look to Heaven? If I cannot make this spot of ground yield the corn and the roses, famine must be my lot for ever and ever, surely." Many in this world are "deeply homesick"— asking, consciously or unconsciously, "Where is that home?" How can we help them as we would ourselves be helped.
Do you remember away back in your childhood how the church-bells sounded on the Summer air through the Sabbath stillness in some far-away country village? Listen in your heart. Do you hear them, ringing sweetly, solemnly, appealingly. commandingly, — Come, Come, Come, Come! And do you remember how through all the sweet peace you walked to church up the shady paths, and how all the people were going and meeting,—and how all the holy Sabbath calm seemed brooding, and over and through all the bells rang on, swelling and dying, Come, Come, Come!
