'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.

Chorus—Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
   There's no place like home;
   O, there's no place like home.

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child;
As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door,
Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.—Cho.

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,
O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again;
The birds singly gaily that came at may call;
Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than all.—Cho.