The Home Beautiful
’Tis not a palace built of marble,
’Tis not a mansion made of stone,
’Tis not a hostelry of splendor,
Nor a seat upon a throne.
It may be but a humble cottage
With loving welcome at the door,
With sunshine peeping in at window,
And lighting up the naked floor.
It may be but a tent by brookside,
But air is pure, and water sweet.
The tent is home of rarest splendor,
If Love, by brookside, doth you greet.
’Tis love that gives to home its beauty,
It is not honor, riches, fame.
For Love will light up every corner,
In home of beauty is Love’s name.