‘Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, sought through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home! be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild, And feel that my mother now thinks of her child, As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again! The birds singing gaily, that come at my call -- Give me them -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
If I return home overburdened with care
The heart's dearest solace I'm sure to meet there;
The bliss I experience whenever I come
Makes no other place seem like that of sweet home.
Farewell, peaceful cottage! Farewell, happy home;
Forever I'm doomed a poor exile to roam
This poor aching heart must be laid in the tomb,
Ere it cease to regret the endearments of home
John Howard Payne
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