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| MY boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, | |
| And thy spirit will sigh to roam, | |
| And thou must go;—but never when there, | |
| Forget the light of home. | |
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| Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, | 5 |
| It dazzles to lead astray: | |
| Like the meteor’s flash ’t will deepen the night, | |
| When thou treadest the lonely way. | |
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| But the hearth of home has a constant flame, | |
| And pure as vestal fire: | 10 |
| ’T will burn, ’t will burn, for ever the same, | |
| For nature feeds the pyre. | |
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| The sea of ambition is tempest tost, | |
| And thy hopes may vanish like foam; | |
| But when sails are shiver’d and rudder lost, | 15 |
| Then look to the light of home. | |
| |
| And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, | |
| Thou shalt see the beacon bright, | |
| For never, till shining on thy shroud, | |
| Can be quench’d its holy light. | 20 |
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| The sun of fame ’t will gild the name, | |
| But the heart ne’er felt its ray; | |
| And fashion’s smiles, that rich ones claim, | |
| Are but beams of a wintry day. | |
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| And how cold and dim those beams must be, | 25 |
| Should life’s wretched wanderer come! | |
| But my boy, when the world is dark to thee, | |
| Then turn to the light of home. | |
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