| «So, you’re going to leave the old home, Jim
|
| Today you’re going away
|
| So, you’re going among the city folks to dwell»
|
| So spoke a kind old mother
|
| To her boy one summer day
|
| «If your mind’s made up that way, I wish you well
|
| The old home will be lonesome
|
| We’ll miss you when you go
|
| The birds won’t sing so sweet when you’re not nigh
|
| But if you get in trouble, Jim
|
| Just write and let us know»
|
| She spoke these words and then she said goodbye
|
| If sickness overtakes you
|
| Or old companions shake you
|
| As through this world you wander all alone
|
| When friends you haven’t any
|
| In your pocket not a penny
|
| There’s a mother always awaiting you at home
|
| Ten years later to this village
|
| Came a stranger no one knew
|
| His steps were halt and ragged clothes he wore
|
| The little children laughed at him
|
| As down the lane he trod
|
| At last he stopped before a cottage door
|
| He gently knocked, no sound he heard
|
| He thought, «Can she be dead?»
|
| But then he heard a voice well known to him
|
| Was his mother’s voice, but her hair had silvered
|
| By the touch of time
|
| And she said, «Thank God, they’ve sent me home my Jim»
|
| If sickness overtakes you
|
| Or old companions shake you
|
| As through this world you wander all alone
|
| When friends you haven’t any |