"I am far frae my hame,
I am weary aften whiles
For the langed for hame-bringin
An' my Faether's welcome smiles.
An' I'll ne'er be fu' content,
Until my e'en do see
The gowden gates o' heaven
In my ain countree.
The earth is decked wi' flow'rs,
Mony tinted, fresh an' gay,
An' the birdies warble blythely,
For my Faether made them sae;
But these sights an' these soun's
Will as naething be to me,
When I hear the angels singin'
In my ain countree.
Like a bairn to its mither,
A wee birdie to its nest,
I fain would be gangin' noo
Unto my Faether's breast;
For He gathers in His arms
Helpless, worthless lambs like me,
An' carries them Himsel'
To His ain countree."
There were tears in many eyes, but not in Carol's. The loving
heart had quietly ceased to beat and the "wee birdie" in the
great house had flown to its "home nest.
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