The joys of home I once have tasted,
All its pleasures called my own;
Friendship's purest pleasures graced it,
But they're gone,—I'm left alone,

Now no more that smile of gladness
Welcomes me at my return;
But a lonely, solemn sadness:
Oh she's gone,—I'm left alone!

Oft when clouds of care and trouble,
Like a tempest o'er me roll'd,
A look, a word, an act of kindness,
Served to calm my troubled soul.

When by pain and sickness wasted,
Oft she lingered near my bed;
Fed me, nursed me as an angel,
Washed my feet or bathed my head.

When to western wilds I wandered,
Rear'd in solitude my cot;
Clear'd away the gloomy forest,—
She with flowers adorned the spot.

When by ruthless mobs was driven,
Wounded, bleeding, from my home,
Wandering in a land of strangers,
Pilgrim like she with me roamed.

When in distant climes I wander'd,
To bear glad tidings to mankind;
She shared my toils and travels gladly,
Or would consent to stay behind.

Returning from a distant journey,
She always met me with a smile;
Wash'd my feet and changed my raiment,
And bade me rest from all my toil.

But now alone I'm left to wander,
From land to land, from sea to sea;
And none except my only offspring
Will scarce inquire what comes of me.

And e'n to him I'll seem a stranger,
While he is reared by other hands;
He'll hardly feel I am his father,
When I return from distant lands.

What is it then for which I linger,
Still in this dark and dreary waste?
Where nothing centers my affection,
Where others' joys I cannot taste.

If I must still consent to tarry,
'Twill be to bear another's grief:
To save mankind from sin and sorrow,
And bring the broken heart relief.

To comfort those who mourn in Zion,
And bid ten thousand others come;
Where the widow, orphan, virgin,
And the poor may find a home.