Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
Holiness is the architectural plan upon which
God buildeth up His living temple.
HOLLY
(Ilex)
Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs
Were twisted gracefu' round her brows,
I took her for some Scottish Muse,
By that same token,
An' come to stop those reckless vows,
Would soon be broken.
Burns—The Vision. Duan I. St. 9.
Those hollies of themselves a shape
As of an arbor took.
Coleridge—The Three Graves. Pt. IV. St. 24.
All green was vanished save of pine and yew,
That still displayed their melancholy hue;
Save the green holly with its berries red,
And the green moss that o'er the gravel spread.
Crabbe—Tales of the Hall.
And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,
The Holly leaves a sober hue display
Less bright than they,
But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?
Sodthet—The Holly-Tree.
Reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The Holly-tree?
The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
HOME
No outward doors of a man's house can in
general be broken open to execute any civil process; though in criminal cases the public safety supersedes the private. Blackstone (Stephen's) Vol. IV. P. 108. (Ed. 1880)
At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th! expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher thro'
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an'
glee.
Burns—The Cotter's Saturday Night. St. 3.
To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
Burns—Epistle to Dr. Blacklock.
I've read in many a novel, that unless they've
souls that grovel—
Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary
marble halls.
Calverley—In the Gloaming.
My whinstone house my castle is,
I have my own four walls.
Carlyle—My Own Four Walls.
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,
And the brown bee drones i' the rose,
And the west is a red-streaked four-o'clock,
And summer is near its close—
It's—Oh, for the gate, and the locust lane;
And dusk, and dew, and home again!
Madison Cawein—In the Lane.
' 14
Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever
Their peace and gladness lie like tears and
laughter.
Madison Cawein—Old Homes.
Nullus est locus domestica sede jucundior.
There is no place mbre delightful than one's
own fireside.
Cicero—Epistles. IV. 8.
. 16
Home is home, though it be never so homely.
John Clarke—Paroemwlogia. P. 101.
For a man's house is his castle.
Sir Edward Coke—Institutes. Pt. III.
Against Going, or Riding Armed. P. 162.
The house of every one is to him as his castle
and fortress, as well for his defence against
injury and violence, as for his repose.
Sir Edward Coke—Reports, Semaynes' Case.
Vol. III. Pt. V. P. 185.
| seealso = (See also Blackstone)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
Cowley—To the Bishop of Lincoln. L. 27.
I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aften
whiles,
For the longed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's
welcome smiles.
Erastus Ellsworth—My Ain Countrie.
See Moody and Sankey's Hymns, No. 5.
<poem>The house is a castle which the King cannot
enter. Emerson—English Traits. Wealth.
<poem>There's nobody at home
But Jumping Joan, And father and mother and I. George Gascoigne—Tale of Ieronimi. (1577)
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door; The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.
| author = Goldsmith | work = The Deserted Village. L. 227. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Greene)
