But hearts e'en at the altar pledged Oft seek for love in vain, And hungering souls are doomed to starve, In freezing, cold disdain. Ah, why should mortals thus refuse To wield that grace divine, The chief of the blest three that heaven Gives to make life sublime. Some make a grave mistake, and seek Pity beyond their home; No friend or relative on earth Should counsel thus to roam. Others have cultivated minds, Are leaders in high art, Whilst in the little things of life, They take no kindly part. And yet if we investigate, It is these little things, Which make up human happiness, And lasting pleasure brings. And tastes objectionable oft, May on life's harp-strings jar, Producing irritation And much domestic war. The little word in the right place, The gentle touches, tones, The watchful loving sympathy, Which for so much atones, Are potent means which moral force Finds it the best to wield, For 'neath their mystic influence, Most hearts are bound to yield. Oh! for this love that conquers self, That binds us to our kind, That raises us to heaven and God, And purifies the mind! Ecstatic, sweet, rekindling power, Bright altar-fire sublime, Most precious gift to mortals given, That will outlive all time. The Rubicon is past when wed, And there is no retreat, Brave hearts should then accept the lot, Which none but they can meet. 'Tis always wise and safe to choose The heaven directed course