In fancy he walks in the old fields again
And he hears the birds sing in the wind and the rain
And he hears the lark carolling at dawn of the day
The old hill from him doesn't seem far away
Why should he feel homesick when he can visualize
And he can hear the robin sing at sunset and sunrise
And the cuckoo he calls in the wooodland nearby
And the swallows o'er the moorland they chirp as they fly
And though he often talks of the hills far away
In the sunny Southlands his remains will lay
And here he will grow old more wrinkled and gray
And here till the end of his life he will stay
But in fancy he hear the clear mountain rill
Babbling down the high field from the foot of the hill.
And he hears the birds sing in the wind and the rain
And he hears the lark carolling at dawn of the day
The old hill from him doesn't seem far away
Why should he feel homesick when he can visualize
And he can hear the robin sing at sunset and sunrise
And the cuckoo he calls in the wooodland nearby
And the swallows o'er the moorland they chirp as they fly
And though he often talks of the hills far away
In the sunny Southlands his remains will lay
And here he will grow old more wrinkled and gray
And here till the end of his life he will stay
But in fancy he hear the clear mountain rill
Babbling down the high field from the foot of the hill.
