farmers' institutes. 517 



that to secure the best results it is the part of wisdom from many stand- 

 points—among which considerations of actual economy cut a decided figure 

 —for a builder to impart his inspirations to a competent and trustworthy 

 architect, and permit him to do the rest. 



I am maliing a plea for a happy, comfortable home, and permit me to 

 conclude these discursive remarlis with a short selection of poetry which, 

 I thinli, expresses thoughts and sentiments that should actuate every one 

 here present. The home referred to in the poem, however, is one that has 

 gi-own out of careful thought and an intelligent appreciation of the prin- 

 ciples of architecture as applied to human habitations: 



BLESSED ARE THEY WHO HAVE HOMES. 



I want to be home when tlie night comes down- 

 When the night comes down and the sun is hid — 



And the pale, cold moon lights the glimmering town. 

 And is heard the shrill cricket and katydid. 

 Ah, me! "There's no place like home." 



I want to be home when the night comes down. 



When the storm-king raves and the billows roar. 

 And the signboards creek in the rickety town. 



And the mad waves dash strong ships on shore, 

 •Ah, me! what a snug place is home. 



With my books, my papers, and my glowing hearth. 



With my wife and children around me there; 

 With health and love and innocent mirth, 



With a heart content and free from care. 

 Ah, me! what a heaven is home. 



What need I care for the storm-king's wrath? 



What to me is the rain or the lightning's glare? 

 Though the hurricane sweeps over the doomed ship's path, 



And men lie bleeding and mangled and bare. 

 Ah, me! what a heaven is home. 



Oh! my heart does go out to the homeless band- 

 To the homeless and wretched o'er all the earth- 

 To the wanderers by sea and the wanderers by land, 

 And I wish them God-speed from my humble heart, 

 Ah, me! would that all had a home. 



