Thomas Moore

The Dream of Home

Who has not felt how sadly sweet
  	The dream of home, the dream of home,
Steals o’er the heart, too soon to fleet,
  	When far o’er sea or land we roam?
Sunlight more soft may o’er us fall,
  	To greener shores our bark may come;
But far more bright, more dear than all,
  	That dream of home, that dream of home.

Ask the sailor youth when far
  	His light bark bounds o’er ocean’s foam,
What charms him most, when evening’s star
  	Smiles o’er the wave? to dream of home.
Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves
  	At that sweet hour around him come;
His heart’s best joy where’er he roves,
  	That dream of home, that dream of home.