Freston
57
Thy mad, rushing waters and soft-tinkling rills;
The warm glowing sunshine, that pours in its glee,
On the land that God loves, the dear land of the free.
The warm glowing sunshine, that pours in its glee,
On the land that God loves, the dear land of the free.
Back, back, o'er the billows, my yearning thoughts fly,
To thy wide spreading plains and thy mountains so high;
To each flower-gemmed valley, and bird-haunted tree,
And the true, loving hearts that are waiting for me.
So I long to return, oh, my country, to thee,
To follow my thoughts o'er the wide, trackless sea;
Though far I may wander and long I may roam,
My heart yearns for thee, oh, my home! oh, my home!
To thy wide spreading plains and thy mountains so high;
To each flower-gemmed valley, and bird-haunted tree,
And the true, loving hearts that are waiting for me.
So I long to return, oh, my country, to thee,
To follow my thoughts o'er the wide, trackless sea;
Though far I may wander and long I may roam,
My heart yearns for thee, oh, my home! oh, my home!
