Oh, Bring Again My Heart's

Solitude Is Very Sad, Too Much Company Twice As Bad.

Yet Dearer Still That Irish Hill Than All The World Beside; It's Home, Sweet Home, Where'er I Roam, Through Lands And Waterswide.

Scarcely A Tear To Shed; Hardly A Word To Say; The End Of A Summer's Day; Sweet Love Is Dead.

Round The World And Home Again, That's The Sailor's Way!

Tantarrara! The Joyous Book Of Spring Lies Open, Writ In Blossoms.