Do they miss me at home, do they miss me?
'T would be an assurance most dear
To know that this moment some loved one
Was saying, “Oh, were she but here!”
To know that the group at the fireside
Were thinking of me as I roam,—
Oh yes, 't would be joy beyond measure,
To know that they missed me at home!

When twilight approaches,—the season
That ever was sacred to song,—
Does some one repeat my name over,
And sigh that I tarry so long?
And is there a chord in the music
That's missed when my voice is away?
And a chord in each heart that awaketh
Regret at my wearisome stay?

Do they place me a chair near the table
When evening's home-pleasures are nigh,
And candles are lit in the parlor,
And stars in the calm azure sky?
And when the good-nights are repeated,
Does each the dear memory keep,
And think of the absent, and waft me
A whispered “Good-night” ere they sleep?

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me,
At morning, at noon and at night?
And lingers one gloomy shade round them
That only my presence can light?
Are joys less invitingly welcomed,
And pleasures less dear than before,
Because one is missed from the circle,—
Because I am with them no more?

Oh yes—they do miss me! Kind voices
Are calling me back as I roam,
And eyes have grown weary with weeping,
And watch but to welcome me home!
Sweet friends, ye shall wait me no longer,
No longer I 'll linger behind;
For how can I tarry, while followed
By watchings and pleadings so kind?