Sometimes when traveling a dusty road The faces of tired wanderers are lighted With hope and gladness -- not so far away They see a city, their footsteps benighted They hasten, thinking to have reached at last Their long sought destination. As nearer they approach they see no city -- It was but some weird vision conjured there By homesick hearts that, wearied by long absence, Put there to solace minds wracked by despair. They plod so slowly on, and, looking back, Again they see -- their home. |