I have always been a wand'rer Over land and sea Yet a moonbeam on the water Casts a spell o'er me A vision fair I see Again I seem to be Back home again in Indiana, And it seems that I can see The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright, Through the sycamores for me. The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance Through the fields I used to roam. When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash, How I long for my Indiana home. Fancy paints on mem'ry's canvas Scenes that we hold dear We recall them in days after Clearly they appear And often times I see A scene that's dear to me Back home again in Indiana, And it seems that I can see The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright, Through the sycamores for me. The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance Through the fields I used to roam. When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash, How I long for my Indiana home.
I have always been a wand'rer Over land and sea Yet a moonbeam on the water Casts a spell o'er me A vision fair I see Again I seem to be Back home again in Indiana, And it seems that I can see The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright, Through the sycamores for me. The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance Through the fields I used to roam. When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash, How I long for my Indiana home. Fancy paints on mem'ry's canvas Scenes that we hold dear We recall them in days after Clearly they appear And often times I see A scene that's dear to me Back home again in Indiana, And it seems that I can see The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright, Through the sycamores for me. The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance Through the fields I used to roam. When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash, How I long for my Indiana home.
