  Out of this night of lonely noise, The city’s crowded cries, Home of my heart, to thee, to thee I turn my longing eyes. Years, years, how many years I went In exile wearily, Before I lifted up my face And saw my home in thee. I had come home to thee at last. I saw thy warm lights gleam. I entered thine abiding joy,— Oh, was it but a dream? Ere I could reckon with my heart The sum of our delight, I was an exile once again Here in the hasting night. Thy doors were shut; thy lights were gone From my remembering eyes.— Only the city’s endless throng! |
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