The stranger’s heart is with his own.
Thou think’st thy children’s laughing play
A lovely sight at fall of day;
Then are the stranger’s thoughts oppress’d—
His mother’s voice comes o’er his breast.
Thou think’st it sweet when friend with friend
Beneath one roof in prayer may blend;
Then doth the stranger’s eye grow dim—
Far, far are those who pray’d with him.
Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage-land,