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PEACE AT HOME.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

PEACE AT HOME.

'Tis when a storm subsides,
And breathes a clement breeze behind,
Such is the quiet stream of mind,
Thus all things are to heaven resigned,
And friend with friend divides.
When peace is gone from home,
A whirlwind resides in her stead,
And all the laurel's leaves are shed,
The willow droops her verdant bead,
The chamber is a tomb.
Where peace forbears to dwell,
Life from the hut or fleet away,
Whose wife is pouting night or day,
Oh, tortured man forbear to stay,
Her path leads unto hell.
A forward wife is death,
Woman indeed is hard to find,
Man to her end is ever blind,
'Tis best to leave the wretch behind,
Nor spend with such a breath.

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Why should one live on thorns,
And yet a transient time to live,
With one who will not take nor give,
But will the dearest friend deceive,
And every favor scorn.
How pleasing is the hour,
When a rude storm has passed away,
And left the field and garden gay,
Whilst lambent o'er the breast of May,
Play inoffensive flowers.
Never regret the flight,
From one in her own folly left,
Who frowns and tramples on a gift,
Leave her alone herself to shift,
And vanish from her sight.