O! thou hast wander'd long
From thy home without a guide;
And thy native woodland song,
In thine altered heart hath died.
Thou hast flung the wealth away,
And the glory of thy Spring;
And to thee the leaves' light play
Is a long-forgotten thing.
Still at thy father's board
There is kept a place for thee;
And, by thy smile restored,
Joy round the hearth shall be.