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AWAY FROM HOME.
Ah, when the sunset goldens all the bay
And the white sails are resting from their play,
Walk where we used to walk, and think of me
Who have no longer either masts or sea.
And the white sails are resting from their play,
Walk where we used to walk, and think of me
Who have no longer either masts or sea.
Ah, thou, whose dear eyes watched the way I went,
Look toward the city of my banishment!
Let me not be forsaken utterly;—
Stretch thy fond arms, and hold me close to thee!
Look toward the city of my banishment!
Let me not be forsaken utterly;—
Stretch thy fond arms, and hold me close to thee!
