When youâ€™ve knocked about the countryâ€”been away from home for years; When the past, by distance softened, nearly fills your eyes with tearsâ€” You are haunted oft, wherever or however you may roam, By a fancy that you ought to go and see the folks at home. You forget the family quarrelsâ€”little things that used to jarâ€” And you think of how theyâ€™ll worryâ€”how they wonder where you are; You will think you served them badly, and your own part youâ€™ll condemn, And it strikes you that youâ€™ll surely be a novelty to them, For your voice has somewhat altered, and your face has somewhat changedâ€” And your views of men and matters over wider fields have ranged. Then itâ€™s time to save your money, or to watch it (how it goes!); Then itâ€™s time to get a â€˜Gladstoneâ€™ and a decent suit of clothes; Then itâ€™s time to practise daily with a hair-brush and a comb, Till you drop in unexpected on the folks and friends at home. When youâ€™ve been at home for some time, and the noveltyâ€™s worn off, And old chums no longer court you, and your friends begin to scoff; When â€˜the girlsâ€™ no longer kiss you, crying â€˜Jack! how you have changed!â€™ When youâ€™re stale to your relations, and their manner seems estranged ; When the old domestic quarrels, round the table thrice a day, Make it too much like the old timesâ€”make you wish youâ€™d stayed away, When, in short, youâ€™ve spent your money in the fulness of your heart, And your clothes are getting shabby . . . Then itâ€™s high time to depart.