Full Lyrics
O well I love the Spring,
When the sweet, sweet hawthorn blows;
And well I love the Summer,
And the coming of the rose.
But dearer are the changing leaf,
And the year upon the wane,
For O they bring the blessed time
That brings him home again.
November may be dreary;
December's days may be
As full of gloom to others
As once they were to me:
But, O to hear the tempest
Beat loud against the pane!
For the roaring wind and the blessed time
That brings him home again.
