SONGS
of the
Land of Sunset,
[by]
J[oseph]. P[hilbrick]. Webster. [1819-1875]
[COLUMN 1]
[1] HURRY UP THE GOOD TIME [SAVING?]
[2] THOU COMEST NO MORE
[3] OLD DOOR-STEP
[4] SPIRITS CALL
[5] NELLIE GRAY
[6] POOR WILLIES ALL ALONE
[7] WE PART FOR EVER
[8] OUR BONNIE BLUE EYED NELL
[9] WILLIE LEE
[10] KATY MY DARLINT
[COLUMN 2]
[11] ONWARD ... Quartett
[12] HERE IS JOY for the MOU[R]NER
[13] THE CROCUS
[14] LITTLE MAUD
[15] HOME IS SAD WITHOUT A MOTHER
[16] MY DEAR OLD HOME
[COLUMN 3]
[17] COURAGE ... Quartett
[18] FAR AWAY ... Quartett
[19] STRIKE THE HARP ... Quartett
[20] MY MOTHER'S SONG...Duet

[No. 16]
[No. 12 (or 42?)]
"My Dear Old Home" (1859)
Music by J[oseph]. P[hilbrick]. Webster [1819-1875]

Chicago: H. M. HIGGINS, 45 Lake Street
Pearson, Eng'r.
[Source: am4121@Mills]

1. I came again to my dear old home,
  But years long since have sped,
And ’mid the raven locks of youth
  Lay many a silver thread!
The bounding step was slow and sad,
  The sparkling eye grown dim,
And the birdnotes once so blythesome fell
  Like the chimes of a funeral hymn.

2. I looked for the roof that sheltered once
  The love of childhood hours;
I sought for the hearthstone upon it lay
  A mound of grass and flowers;
The broadarmed oak, whose shelt’ring shade
  Was the scene of our merry play—
A mossgrown stump marked out the spot
  That told of its decay.

3. I wandered down the poplar spring,
  And drank from the gushing stream,
But the draught had lost its magic charm,
  The waves their golden gleam;
For the rippling waters seemed to speak
  With tones of long ago—
O, many a tuneful voice is still
  That mingled with their flow.

4. I turned to seek, with fingering step,
  And spirit bowed and sad,
For those that had blessed that lowly roof
  And made the hearthstone glad;
And I found them all where the willow droop’d
  Its long green boughs around—
Some cherished form was resting there,
  ’Neath each quiet, grassy mound.

5. I am forth again, in this wide cold world,
  But where’re my footsteps tread,
The dearest seat will be to me
  The home of the loved ones dead.
The sunshine steals through the hanging boughs
  With softened, steady light;
And silent stars gleam purest there,
  In hush of the summer night.