Home is the Human Heart

Whatever is in the world

Or becomes in due course

Begins first at home

Fashioned from the loving, caring hands of parents

Whatever of human pride is not to be in the fruitful land

Will not be found as passion in the gentle home

The love, the respect, the temperance and tolerance,

The sense of decency, privacy and forbearance

Will not be found in the world

If it is not first found in the home

Home is the cradle of humanity

It is human  well of talent, ability, compassion, and greatness

However vain-glorious the ways of the world

In equal measure is humility woven at the home's hearth

The fabric of the world

Is woven of home-spun and home-grown fleece

And if perchance goodness and virtue is not at one house

It may yet be found at the next

The beginning and end of the fortunes we seek

Are in the home we make for ourselves

The measure of our journey

Is the difference from where we started

To where we may end

The size of the house or height of the roof does not matter

So much as the strength of the human heart

Residing within

The earth is our home, our kitchen, our bathing place, our tabernacle, 

and our common grave and ossuary

The earth is our womb, our mother, our Goddess and our guardian

We are its children

We issue from it, and in due time return to its ancient fold

This is our destiny and our fate

We can wish for no more than this

And expect nothing less

If we are to sum up this lump of clay

That we call and feel as human flesh

Then we must conclude that we are made of the earth

And the Earth, in her turn, is made of us

The Earth's waters course through our body

And our blood flows in its streams down into the ocean

The salt in our tears is the salt of the sea

This attachment is basic and strong

It cannot be broken or undone

By human vanity or perversion