Dear old home of my youth in the long, long ago,
Where the sunshine each morn filled the air,
Where the meadow lark rose from the tall prairie grass
As it warbled its sweet carols there.
Oh I think of that home dear old home far away
That was then on the wild prairie wide,
Where each night I was tucked in the old trundle bed
On the floor by the old fireside.
In my fancy I see once again the old home,
Dear log house father built long ago,
Its steep roof made of slabs and its chimney of stone,
With my name roughly carved below.
There it stood many years ere another was built
On the prairie around anywhere,
And its light was a guide to the traveler lone,
And its doors ever welcomed him there.
There at night music sweet from the old violin
Floated out on the sweet, balmy air,
While I drifted to sleep in the old trundle bed—
Peaceful sleep without ever a care.
Oh bring back again the old home of my youth
Where the grass rolled like waves of the sea,
Where the dear wild flowers bloomed, where the lark sang so sweet,
Oh my old prairie home let me see!
There the low muffled tone of the prairie hen's mate
Floated in from the prairie around,
And away in the distance the wild deer roamed free,
Then unknown the fierce bay of the hound,
And at noon dear Bob White from the hedge piped his strain,
Coming night brought the dove's mournful lay,
And the song of the cricket and Katy-did rang
From the grass till the breaking of day.
