Plive—Peace. 
OW sweet to feel on the boon air 
All our unquiet pulses cease ! 
To feel that nothing can impair 
The gentleness, the thirst for peace— 
The gentleness too rudely_ hurl’d 
On this wild earth of hate and fear, 
The thirst for peace a raving world 
Would never let us satiate here. 
Matthew Arnold. 
jSAGE—pOMESTIC yil^TUES. 
^HE angry word suppress’d, the taunting thought; 
Subduing and subdu’d, the petty strife 
Which clouds the colour of domestic life ; 
The sober comfort, all the peace which springs, 
From the large aggregate of little things; 
On these small cares of daughter, wife or friend, 
The almost sacred joys of home depend. 
Hannah More. 
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