There's a magical tie to the land of our home, which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps may roam. Eliza Cook
There's a magical tie to the land of our home, which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps may roam.
Though language forms the preacher, 'Tis good works make the man. Eliza Cook
Though language forms the preacher, 'Tis good works make the man.
Why should we strive, with cynic frown, to knock their fairy castles down? Eliza Cook
Why should we strive, with cynic frown, to knock their fairy castles down?
Who would not rather trust and be deceived? Eliza Cook
Who would not rather trust and be deceived?
How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, When memory plays an old tune on the heart. Eliza Cook
How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, When memory plays an old tune on the heart.
