We may rove the wide world o'er.
But we ne'er shall find a trace
Of the home we loved of yore,
Of the old familiar place;
Other scenes may be as bright
But we miss 'neath a lien skies,
Both the welcome and the light
Of the old, kind loving eyes.
Home is home, of this bereft,
Mem'ry loves again to trace,
All the forms of those we left...
In the old familiar place.