Classic Poem

Come home, come home! and where an home hath he
Whose ship is driving o'er the driving sea?
To the frail bark here plunging on its way
To the wild waters shall I turn and say
Ye are my home?

Fields once I walked in, faces once I knew,
Familiar things my heart had grown unto,
Far away hence behind me lie; before
The dark clouds mutter and the deep seas roar
Not words of home.

Beyond the clouds, beyond the waves that roar
There may indeed, or may not be, a shore,
Where fields as green and friendly hearts as true
The old foregone appearance may renew
As of an home.

But toil and care must add day on to day,
And weeks bear months and months bear years away,
Ere, if at all, the way-worn traveller hear
A voice he dare believe say in his ear
Come to thy home.

Come home, come home! and where an home hath he
Whose ship is driving o'er the driving sea?
Through clouds that mutter and o'er seas that roar
Is there indeed, or is there not a shore
That is our home?