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Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, |
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Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; |
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A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, |
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Which seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. |
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I gaze on the moon |
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As I tread the drear wild, |
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And feel that my mother |
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Now thinks of her child; |
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As she looks at that moon |
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From our own cottage door, |
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Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance |
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Shall cheer me no more. |
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(Music) |
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As she looks at that moon |
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From our own cottage door, |
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Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance |
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Shall cheer me no more. |
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Home, home, sweet sweet home, |
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Be it ever so humble, |
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There's no place like home. |
