Long years have seen me roaming
A sad and weary way,
Like traveller tired at gloaming,
A sultry summer's day;
No lamp of love before me,
No twinkling parlor fire,
But clouds and darkness o'er me,
My only friend my lyre.
A welcome shed now greets me,
Though low its portal be,
And ready kindness meets me,
And peace that will not flee:
So here my heart reposes,
And finds at last its home;
Its day of wandering closes;
It rests, no more to roam.
So when, by tempest battered,
The seaman, bent ashore,
Sails torn and colors tattered,
Still ploughs the ocean's roar,
If but a watch-light twinkle
With hospitable glow,
Joy-tears his hard cheeks sprinkle,
And hope's bright fountains flow:
His home is all before him,
The dwelling of his sires;
His own blue sky is o'er him,
And near his altar-fires:
Awhile his burdened feelings
Like silent waters run,
Then burst in echoed pealings,
“My land—my land is won!”
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