| Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
|
| Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
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| A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
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| Which seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
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| I gaze on the moon
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| As I tread the drear wild,
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| And feel that my mother
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| Now thinks of her child;
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| As she looks at that moon
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| From our own cottage door,
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| Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance
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| Shall cheer me no more.
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| (Music)
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| As she looks at that moon
|
| From our own cottage door,
|
| Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance
|
| Shall cheer me no more.
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| Home, home, sweet sweet home,
|
| Be it ever so humble,
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| There's no place like home. |