Round my Indiana homestead wave the cornfield. In the distance looms the woodlands clear and cool.
Often times my thought reverts to scenes of childhood, where I first received my lessons nature's school.
But one thing there is missing in the picture, without her face it seems so incomplete.
I long to see my mother in the doorway, as she stood there years ago, her boy to greet.
All the moonlights bear the night away.
Along the Wabash, from the fields there comes the breath of new mornay.
Through the sycamores the candlelights are gleaming.
On the banks of the Wabash, far away.
All the moonlights bear the night.
Along the Wabash, from the fields there comes the breath of new mornay.
Through the sycamores the candlelights are gleaming.
Through the sycamores the candlelights are gleaming.
On the banks of the Wabash, far away.
That Wabash moon is shining.
In Indiana so far away.
On the banks of the Wabash, far away.
In Indiana so far away.