html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }"I want to go home," said a little child,
Stopping from play among the flowers,
"I want to go home to my mother now,
I am tired of playing in the bowers."
"I want to go home to my mother now,
I want to lay my head upon her breast;
I want her to smooth my ringlets down,
I want to go home, I want to rest."
"I want to go home," said a wayward youth,
"I am tired of roaming alone,
I want to see my father again,
And seek his pardon for a wayward one."
"" want to go home," said a sailor old,
"I am tired of being at sea,
I would see my wife and children dear,
And fondle the little one on my knee."
"I want to go home," said an artist to me,
"I would see the country I've painted oft,
I would see the beautiful angels and roam
Over the lovely plains aloft."
The child went home to its mother dear,
The youth to his father returned,
The sailor at sea went home to his wife,
But the artist for his home still yearned.
[Aged 13 years,]