| I have always been a wand’rer
|
| Over land and sea
|
| Yet a moonbeam on the water
|
| Casts a spell o’er me
|
| A vision fair I see
|
| Again I seem to be
|
| Back home again in Indiana
|
| And it seems that I can see
|
| The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright
|
| Through the sycamores for me
|
| The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
|
| Through the fields I used to roam
|
| When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash
|
| How I long for my Indiana home
|
| Fancy paints on mem’ry’s canvas
|
| Scenes that we hold dear
|
| We recall them in days after
|
| Clearly they appear
|
| And often times I see
|
| A scene that’s dear to me
|
| Back home again in Indiana
|
| And it seems that I can see
|
| The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright
|
| Through the sycamores for me
|
| The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
|
| Through the fields I used to roam
|
| When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash
|
| How I long for my Indiana home |