Come home, come home! and where is home for me

Come home, come home! and where is home for me,     Whose ship is driving oer the trackless sea?     To the frail bark here plunging on its way,     To the wild waters, shall I turn and say     To the plunging bark, or to the salt sea foam,             You are my home.     Fields once I walked in, faces once I knew,     Familiar things so old my heart believed them true,     These far, far back, behind me lie, before     The dark clouds mutter, and the deep seas roar,     And speak to them that neath and oer them roam             No words of home.     Beyond the clouds, beyond the waves that roar,     There may indeed, or may not be, a shore,     Where fields as green, and hands and hearts as true,     The old forgotten semblance may renew,     And offer exiles driven far oer the salt sea foam             Another home.     But toil and pain must wear out many a day,     And days bear weeks, and weeks bear months away,     Ere, if at all, the weary traveller hear,     With accents whispered in his wayworn ear,     A voice he dares to listen to, say, Come             To thy true home.     Come home, come home! and where a home hath he     Whose ship is driving oer the driving sea?     Through clouds that mutter, and oer waves that roar,     Say, shall we find, or shall we not, a shore     That is, as is not ship or ocean foam,             Indeed our home?