Hills Of The West

Hills of the west, that gird Forest and farm, Home of the nesting bird, Housing from harm, When, on your tops, is heard Storm.

Hills of the west, that bar Belts of the gloam, Under the twilight’s star, Where the mists roam, Take ye the wanderer Home.

Hills of the west, that dream Under the moon, Making of wind and stream, Late heard and soon, Parts of your lives that seem Tune.

Hills of the west, that take Silence to ye, Be it for sorrow’s sake Or memory, Part of such silence make Me.