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I am dreaming of the mountains of my home

Of the mountains where in childhood I would roam

I have dwelt beneath southern skies

Where the summer never dies

But my hear is in the mountains of my home

I can see the little homestead on the hill

I can hear the magic music of the rhyl

There is nothing to compare

With the love that once was there

In the lonely little homestead on the hill

I can see the quiet graveyard down below

Where the mountain breezes wander to and fro

And when god my soul will keep

It is there I want to sleep

With those dear old folks that loved me long ago