My little Welsh home


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 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 valley 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.