I am dreaming of the mountains of my home,
Of the mountains where in childhood I would roam.
I have dwelt 'neath southern skies where the summer never dies,
But my heart is in the mountains of my home.
I can see the little homestead on the hill,
I can hear the charming music of the river.
There is nothing to compare with the love that once was there,
In that lonely little homestead on the hill.
I can see the quiet churchyard 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.