Oh! take me back again, mother, to that home I love so well,
Whose memory rules my fluttering heart with a mysterious spell:
I think of it when lying on my weary couch of pain,
And I feel that I am dying, mother—Oh! take me home again!
They tell me that this sunny clime strength to the wasted brings,
And the zephyr's balmy breezes come with healing on their wings;
But to me the sun's rich glow is naught—the perfumed air is vain—
For I know that I am dying—Oh! then, take me home again!
I long to find myself once more beside the little stream
That courses through our valley green, of which I often dream:
I fancy that a cooling draught from that sweet fount I drain—
It stills the fever of my blood—Oh! take me home again!
And then I lie and ponder, as I feel my life decline,
On the happy days that there I spent when health and strength were mine;
When I climbed the mountain-side, and roved the valley and the plain,
And my bosom never knew a pang of sorrow or of pain.
And when the sun was sinking in the far and glowing west,
I came and sat me by thy side, or nestled in thy breast,
And heard thy gentle words of love, and listened to the strain
Of thy sweet favorite evening hymn—Oh! take me home again!
How bright and joyous was my life! Night brought refreshing rest,
And morning's dawn awakened naught but rapture in my breast:
Now, sad and languid, weak and faint, I seek, but seek in vain,
To lay me down in soft repose—Oh! take me home again!
The hand of death is laid upon thy child's devoted head—
I feel its damp and chilling touch, so cold, so full of dread—
It palsies every nerve of mine—it freezes every vein—
Oh! take me then, dear mother—Oh! take me home again!
There, with my wan brow lying on thy fond and faithful breast,
Let me calmly wait the summons that calls me to my rest:
And when the struggle's o'er, mother—the parting throe of pain—
Thou'lt joy to know thy daughter saw her own loved home again!