Poems (Freston)/A Song of Home

by Elizabeth Heléne Freston

A SONG OF HOME

I am far from my home, from my home in the West,
And here in cold England my heart knows no rest,
And my soul wings its flight o'er the ocean's wild foam,
To greet thee to-night oh, my home! oh, my home!
I have found in this land many friends leal and true,
And the banner they'd die for,—I honor it, too,
But no flag e'er unfurled is as fair unto me
As thy stars and thy bars oh, thou land of the free!

The voice of my mother comes soft on mine ear;
The voice of another, in tones scarce less dear,
Is calling me sadly,—Oh, why did I roam,
From friends and from kindred and thee, oh, my home!
I pine for thy rivers, thy mountains and hills,
Thy mad, rushing waters and soft-tinkling rills;
The warm glowing sunshine, that pours in its glee,
On the land that God loves, the dear land of the free.

Back, back, o'er the billows, my yearning thoughts fly,
To thy wide spreading plains and thy mountains so high;
To each flower-gemmed valley, and bird-haunted tree,
And the true, loving hearts that are waiting for me.
So I long to return, oh, my country, to thee,
To follow my thoughts o'er the wide, trackless sea;
Though far I may wander and long I may roam,
My heart yearns for thee, oh, my home! oh, my home!