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