FastSaying

There's a magical tie to the land of our home, which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps may roam.

Eliza Cook

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There's a magical tie to the land of our home, which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps may roam.
— Eliza Cook
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How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, When memory plays an old tune on the heart
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How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, when memory plays an old tune on the heart!
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Though language forms the preacher, 'Tis good works make the man.
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Our herd may roam, but we all know where is home.
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