The tour is over! We must part!
Our mutual journey at an end.
O bid farewell, with aching heart,
To guide, philosopher, and friend;
And note, as you remark‘ Good-bye!’
The kindly tear that dims his eye.
The tour is ended! Sad but true!
No more together may we roam!
We turn our lonely footsteps to
The spot that's known as Home, Sweet Home.
Nor time nor temper can afford
A more protracted trip abroad.
O Home! where we must always be
So hopelessly misunderstood;
Where waits a tactless family,
To tell us things‘ for our own good’;
Where relatives, with searchlight eyes,
Can penetrate our choicest lies.
Where all our kith and kin combine
To prove that we are worse than rude,
If we should criticise the wine
Or make complaints about the food.
Thank goodness, then, to quote the pome,
Thank goodness there's‘ no place like Home!’