Let fate do her worst; there are moments of joy, / Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; / Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, / And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
This world is all a fleeting show, / For mans illusion given: / The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, / Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, / Theres nothing true but heaven.
Who has not felt how sadly sweet / The dream of home, the dream of home, / Steals oer the heart, too soon to fleet, / When far oer sea or land we roam? / Sunlight more soft may oer 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.