'Tis sweet to think of home. <br /> <br />When from my native clime, <br />Mid lonely vallies pensive far I roam, <br />Mid rocks and hills where waters roll sublime, <br />'Tis sweet to think of home. <br /> <br />My retrospective gaze <br />Bounds on a dark horizon far behind, <br />But yet the stars of homely pleasures blaze <br />And glimmer on my mind. <br /> <br />When pealing thunders roll, <br />And ruffian winds howl, threat'ning life with gloom, <br />To Heaven's kind hand I then commit the whole, <br />And smile to think of home. <br /> <br />But cease, my pensive soul, <br />To languish at departure's gloomy shrine; <br />Still look in front and hail the joyful goal, <br />The pleasure teeming line. <br /> <br />When on the deep wide sea <br />I wander, sailing mid the swelling foam, <br />Tost from the land by many a long degree, <br />O, then I think of thee. <br /> <br />I never shall forget <br />The by-gone pleasures of my native shore, <br />Until the sun of life forbears to set, <br />And pain is known no more. <br /> <br />When nature seems to weep, <br />And life hangs trembling o'er the watery tomb, <br />Hope lifts her peaceful sail to brave the deep, <br />And bids me think of home. <br /> <br />My favorite pigeon rest, <br />Nor on the plane of sorrow drop thy train, <br />But on the bough of hope erect thy nest, <br />Till friends shall meet again. <br /> <br />Though in the hermit's cell, <br />Where eager friends to cheer me fail to come, <br />Where Zeph'rus seems a joyless tale to tell, <br />No thought is sweet but home.<br /><br />George Moses Horton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-traveller-7/
