Once more, once more, my native shore
In beauty greets my gaze:
Again I walk the cottage floor,
To dream of bygone days.
The leaves are bright with silver light,
And through the evening air
Once more I hear the village bells,
That sound the hour of prayer.
Tolling, rolling,
Twanging, clanging,
At the close of day;
O'er hill and hollow sounding,
From rock to rock rebounding,
Their echoes die away.
O cheerful chimes of better times!
I'm growing old and gray,
My feet, through other lands and climes,
Have wandered far away;
I gladly hear your carols clear
In many a joyous strain;
You come like music to my ear
To greet me home again.
Tolling, rolling,
Twanging, clanging,
At the close of day;
O'er hill and hollow sounding,
From rock to rock rebounding,
Your echoes die away.
