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’Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere. Home, home, sweet, sweet home! There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home!

An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain; Oh ! give me my lowly thatched cottage again, The birds singing gaily, that came at my call, Give me them, with the peace of mind, dearer than all. Home, home ! sweet, sweet home! There’s no place like home ! There’s no place like home !

When in the storm, on Albions coast, The night watch guards his wary post, From thoughts of danger free, He marks some vessel’s dusky form, And hears amid the howling storm, The minute gun at sea, The minute gun at sea, And hears amid the howling storm, The minute gun at sea.

Swift on the shore a hardy few The life-boat man with a gallant crew, And dare the dang'rous wave;