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THE THRUSH'S SONG. 



The home of love is where the heart 



Is never found repining; 

 The home of love is where we part. 



In pain some bliss combining ; 



That bliss, the child of ardent hope, 

 Persuading that to-morrow 



We shall, with rapture, meet again ; — 

 No room have we for sorrow. 



The home of love is that on which 

 Our thoughts, when absent centre ; 



And which, when we behold again, 

 Delighting we re-enter. 



The home of love is that where dwell 

 Two hearts of pure affection ; 



Whose mutual throbbings ever tend 

 To dissipate dejection. 



The home of love is that where dwell 

 Hearts kind, sincere, indulgent ; 



Where dwells besides for all the world 

 Benevolence effulgent. 



