And a pillow for the wanderer,
Smoothed by a mother’s hand!
There is sunshine for the wanderer whom wildest storms assail,
A little nook of quietness where never sweeps the gale;
The world with all its fading joys can offer no repose,
Like that which now is waiting him, to bless him till life’s close,
A loving one has sighed for him, and watched for his return,
The light of hope within her breast has never ceased to burn.
What though the outer world condemn? a gentle hand has spread
A pillow for the wanderer to rest his weary head.—Chorus.