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Some children were playing one day on a street,
When a poor little girl drew by;
They laughed at her dress and the home she lived in,
And the tears slowly came to her eyes.
One boy roughly said, "You can't play with us,
Because you're so poor you see;
And besides, you don't live in a mansion like us."
And the maiden replied tenderly:
"It's not the house that makes the home,
My momma teaches me;
For in a humble little cot,
We're happy as can be.
I know we have no mansion grand,
Bedecked with wealth and pride;
But it's not the house that makes the home,
It's the love that lives inside."
Some years have passed by,
And that boy is a man;
He is sailing upon the foam,
To some foreign land,
Where his heart breaks to find,
The love that he longs for at home;
It's not the house that makes the home,
It's the love that lives inside.
Sung by Winifred O'Driscoll of Tors Cove, NL, and published in MacEdward Leach And The Songs Of Atlantic Canada © 2004 Memorial University of Newfoundland Folklore and Language Archive (MUNFLA).
