MY home in the desert, my beautiful home!
How bright the first glimpse of thy vine-cover'd rail!
How gladly once more to thy shelter I come,
How joyfully all thy lov'd precincts I hail!
The trees that we planted, the flowers that we sowed,
Peeping bright o'er the hedge, one by one, I can trace:
And each little shrub by the side of the road
Seems to welcome me home with familiar face.
The home of my fathers was lovely and blest,
And brightly thro' life shall its memory shine;
But for me the wide world owns no mansion of rest
Like the hut where I came, my beloved, as thine!
Where we rough'd it together for many a day,
With little to cheer us but each other's smile;
Where our first rosy babes with their innocent play
Full many a long, sultry hour could beguile.
O, proud are the halls of our own British land,
And fair are the cottages round them that rise;
And oft, in my dreams, on the green hills I stand,
Whence in childhood I gazed on the pale northern skies.
I was blest. I was blest! yet I would not retrace
Even youth's buoyant step on the steep mountain side.
No, my husband, I gaze on thy bright, honest face,
And I love the wild land that has made me thy bride.
And, O, should kind Heaven our barque ever steer
O'er the wide rolling waves to our home in the West,
To dwell in the mansions to memory dear,
Or sleep by the graves where our forefathers rest,
My pray'r shall be still to the Ruler above.
That wherever in future our dwelling shall be,
It may be the abode of Content, Peace and Love,
Like our first little home on the plains of Boree.