 | Naked Genius |  |
ASPIRING HOME.
Oh blessed habitation, my only concern,
I'd fly home rejoicing, nor thence to return;
As an angel of glory,
I'd tell a sweet story,
No longer thro' deserts so distant to roam;
My every endeavor,
I'd dwell there forever,
For there is no place in the Union like home.
I'd fly home rejoicing, nor thence to return;
As an angel of glory,
I'd tell a sweet story,
No longer thro' deserts so distant to roam;
My every endeavor,
I'd dwell there forever,
For there is no place in the Union like home.
I'd say to my kindred friends how do you do,
I've traveled the countries and cities all thro'
I was once melancholy,
But now I am jolly,
I'll think of the fields and fair gardens in bloom;
No longer a stranger,
Escaped from all danger,
Oh, what is so lov'd as my dear native home.
I've traveled the countries and cities all thro'
I was once melancholy,
But now I am jolly,
I'll think of the fields and fair gardens in bloom;
No longer a stranger,
Escaped from all danger,
Oh, what is so lov'd as my dear native home.
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I cannot but think of my dear little wife,
The whole consolation and peace of my life;
When from the tall mountain,
I gaze on the fountain,
That stood near the seaside, loud hearing its foam;
This thought was my pleasure,
For she is my treasure,
The sole consolation and comfort of home.
The whole consolation and peace of my life;
When from the tall mountain,
I gaze on the fountain,
That stood near the seaside, loud hearing its foam;
This thought was my pleasure,
For she is my treasure,
The sole consolation and comfort of home.
The loud storms of battle my comfort assail,
And soldiers in crimson their comrades bewail;
When trees split asunder,
From cannons of thunder,
With mountains and valleys all shrouded in gloom;
Oh what was my notion,
What waves of emotion,
Oh heaven, I thought of my dear native home.
And soldiers in crimson their comrades bewail;
When trees split asunder,
From cannons of thunder,
With mountains and valleys all shrouded in gloom;
Oh what was my notion,
What waves of emotion,
Oh heaven, I thought of my dear native home.
When climbing steep mountains o'er mantled with snow,
And icicles hung in the valleys below;
O'er streams clearly glittered,
With ice over fettered,
The summits resemble some wonderful dome;
O'er hibernal evil,
Back home let me travel,
Bare me back, waft me back to my dear native home.
And icicles hung in the valleys below;
O'er streams clearly glittered,
With ice over fettered,
The summits resemble some wonderful dome;
O'er hibernal evil,
Back home let me travel,
Bare me back, waft me back to my dear native home.
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