"The Old Home Far Away" (1887)
by George Frederick Root, 1820-1895

[Source: page 17 from "The Repertoire"]

1.
The wild birds sing and streamlet runs,
So cheerly by the spot,
Where the peaceful shades of the heather hills,
Fall on my mother's cot.
The panes are small and the thatch is low,
And the old stone walls are gray;
  Oh, I see and love it where'er I go,
  That old home far away.

2.
The clock ticks still on the kitchen wall
To tell the passing hours,
And the woodbine climbs round the open door,
With sweetly scented flow'rs.
My mother stands there before me now,
With her dark brown hair turned gray,
  Oh, I see and love it where'er I go,
  That old home far away.

3.
Not all the pleasures the world can give,
Or wealth of land and sea;
Nor the rank or state of the earth's proud lord's,
Can e'er estrange from me,
The roof that covered my mother's head,
Or the humble floor of clay,
  Oh, I see and love it where'er I go,
  That old home far away.