Of old, when from the garden beautiful
Our parents were self-exiled for their sin,
Our Lord, who e'en to sin is merciful,
Upon their darkness let His light shine in.
He said: "Lest in the pain that they have earned,
They curse their Maker and provoke worse doom,—
Lest they, grief-stricken, be inhuman turned,
I grant them in their hearts the love of home."
And so today, wherever man is found,
The love of home lies deep within his breast,—
To ease the pain of every bruise and wound,
To lighten toil, and bring him peace and rest!
