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Nathaniel Cotton

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If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam.
The world has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves our joys must flow,
And that dear hut, our home.
--
The Fireside, stanza 3, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).

 
Nathaniel Cotton

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