Classic Poem

BY THOMAS H. SHREVE .

Mine be the joy which gleams around
The hearth where pure affections dwell —
Where love enrobed in smiles is found,
And wraps the spirit with its spell.

I would not seek excitement's whirl,
Where Pleasure wears her linsel crown,
And Passion's billows upward curl,
'Neath Hatred's darkly gathering frown.

The dearest boon from heaven above,
Is bliss which brightly hallows home —
The sunlight of our world of love,
Unknown to those who reckless roam.

There is a sympathy of heart
Which conscerales the social shrine,
Robs grief of gloom, and doth impart
A joy to gladness all divine.

It glances from the kindling eye,
Which o'er Affliction sleepless tends —
It gives deep pathos to the sigh
Which anguish from the bosom rends.

It plays around the smiling lip,
When Love bestows the greeting kiss —
And sparkles in each cup we sip
Round the domestic board in bliss!

Let others seek in Wealth or Fame,
A splendid path whereon to tread —
I 'd rather wear a lowlier name,
With Love's enchantments round it shed.

Fame 's but a light to gild the grave,
And Wealth can never calm the breast —
But Love, a halcyon on Life's wave,
Hath power to soothe its strifes to rest.