by songinmyheart » Sun Jul 22, 2012 8:01 pm
My Granny sang these old songs along with her hymns so I'm not sure this is what you are looking for. If not, it brought back fond memories of my Granny. Thanks for that
This one was from 1891
It is ten weary years since I left Ireland's shore,
In a far distant country to roam;
How I long to return to my own native land.
To my friends and the old folks at home.
Last night, as I slumbered, I had a strange dream,
One that seemed to bring distant friends near;
I dreamt of old England, the land of my birth,
To the heart of her sons ever dear.
Refrain.
I saw the old homestead and faces I love; I saw England's valleys And dells;
I listened with joy, as I did When a boy, to the sound of the old village bells;
The log was burning brightly-'twas a night that should banish all sin.
For the bells were ringing the old year out and the new year in.
While the joyous bells rang, swift I wended my way
To the cot where I lived When a boy;
And I looked in the window, yes, there, by the fire,
Sat my parents- my heart filled with joy.
The tears trickled fast down my bronzed, furrowed checks.
As I gazed on my mother so dear;
I knew in my heart she was raising a prayer
For the boy whom she dreamt not was near.-Refrain.
At the door of the cottage we met face to face,
'Twas the first time for ten weary years;
Soon the past was forgotten-we stood hand in band-
Father, mother, and wanderer in tears.
Once more in the fire-place the oak log burns bright,
And I promised no more would I roam;
As I sit in the old vacant chair by the hearth.
And I sing the dear song "Home, Sweet Home."
My Granny sang these old songs along with her hymns so I'm not sure this is what you are looking for. If not, it brought back fond memories of my Granny. Thanks for that
This one was from 1891
It is ten weary years since I left Ireland's shore,
In a far distant country to roam;
How I long to return to my own native land.
To my friends and the old folks at home.
Last night, as I slumbered, I had a strange dream,
One that seemed to bring distant friends near;
I dreamt of old England, the land of my birth,
To the heart of her sons ever dear.
Refrain.
I saw the old homestead and faces I love; I saw England's valleys And dells;
I listened with joy, as I did When a boy, to the sound of the old village bells;
The log was burning brightly-'twas a night that should banish all sin.
For the bells were ringing the old year out and the new year in.
While the joyous bells rang, swift I wended my way
To the cot where I lived When a boy;
And I looked in the window, yes, there, by the fire,
Sat my parents- my heart filled with joy.
The tears trickled fast down my bronzed, furrowed checks.
As I gazed on my mother so dear;
I knew in my heart she was raising a prayer
For the boy whom she dreamt not was near.-Refrain.
At the door of the cottage we met face to face,
'Twas the first time for ten weary years;
Soon the past was forgotten-we stood hand in band-
Father, mother, and wanderer in tears.
Once more in the fire-place the oak log burns bright,
And I promised no more would I roam;
As I sit in the old vacant chair by the hearth.
And I sing the dear song "Home, Sweet Home."
