Home—ask ten different men the meaning of that word and they will give you ten different definitions. To one it means love at the hearth, it means plenty at the table, industry at the workstand, intelligence at the books, devotion at the altar.
In that home, Discord never sounds his warwhoop, and Deception never tricks with his false face. To him it means a greeting at the door and a smile at the chair. Peace hovering like wings, joy clapping her hands with laughter. Life a tranquil lake. Pillowed on the ripples sleep the shadows.
Ask another man “What is home?” He will tell you it is Want looking out of a cheerless fire grate, kneading hunger in an empty bread tray. The damp air shivering with curses. No Bible on the shelf. Children, robbers and murderers in embryo. Obscene songs their lullaby. Every face a picture of ruin: want in the background, and sin staring from the front. No Sabbath wave rolling over that door-sill. Vestibule the pit.
Shadow of infernal walls. Furnace for forging everlasting chains. Faggots for an unending funeral pile. Awful word! It is spelled with curses, it weeps with ruin, it chokes with woe, it sweats with the death agony of despair. The word “home” in the one case means everything bright. The word “home” in the other case means everything terrific. —TALMAGE.
