Not at Home

MY spirit, alas, knoweth no rest!
I lay under Heaven's blue dome,

One day, in the summer beam,
By the Mummel-zee in the forest,

And dreamed a dream
Of my Home —

My Home, the Home of my Father!
Shone glory within and without;

Shone bright in its garden bowers
Such fruits as the Angels gather,

And gold-hued flowers
All about!

Alas! the illusion soon vanished.

I awoke. There were clouds in the sky.

My tears began to flow.,

My quiet of soul was banished;

I felt as though
I could die!

And still with a heart ever swelling
With yearnings, — and still with years

Overdarked by a desolate lot,
I seek for my Father's Dwelling,

And see it not
For my t-oars!