over the hills and far away,
A little boy steals from his morning play
And under the blossoming apple tree
He lies and he dreams of the things to be:
Of battle fought and of victories won.
Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great things done—
Of the valor that he shall prove some day.
Over the hills and far away—
Over the hills, and far away!
Over the hills and far away
It's, oh, for the toil the livelong day!
But it mattereth not to the soul aflame
With a love for riches and power and fame!
On, O man! while the sun is high—
On to the certain joys that lie
Yonder where blazeth the noon of day.
Over the hills and far away—
Over the hills, and far away!
Over the hills and far away,
An old man lingers at close of day;
Now that his journey is almost done.
His battles fought and his victories won—
The old-time honesty and truth,
The truthfulness and the friends of youth.
Home and mother—where are they?
Over the hills and far away—
Over the years, and far away!
