We leave our own our father land,
To lead the wand'rer's fearful life,
On stormy seas or desert sand,
In pilgrim peace or busy strife.

But there's a hope to light and cheer,
Thro' all of danger, toil and pain,
It shines to dry the startling tear,
And gilds the pathway back again
To those we love.

Let others give us gems and gold,
With gems and gold we'd lightly part,
We take them but we do not hold
The treasures to our throbbing heart,

Such costly boons may have the pow'r,
To win our thanks and wake our pride,
But dearer is the wither'd flow'r
That has been worn and thrown aside
By those we love.

We pine beneath the regal dome,
We prize not all that's rich and fair,
We cannot rest in princely home,
If those we cherish dwell not there,

But let the spirit choose its lot,
We'd rather seek the rover's tent
Or gladly share the lowly cot,
And fondly bless the moments spent
With those we love.