“It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’

make it home . . .,

It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,

How much yer chairs an’ tables cost,

how great yer luxury;

It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,

Until somehow yer soul is sort o’

wrapped round everything.”

“Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years,

ye’ve got to romp and play

An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by

usin’ ‘em each day;

. . . Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an ‘stone

from cellar up t’ dome:

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’

make it home.”  (From “Home” by Edgar A. Guest)