Collected by Merlin Mitchell
Transcribed by Kyle Perrin
April 19, 1950
O'er the hills the sun i s setting and t h e eve i s drawing on,
Slowly drops the gentle twilight for mother day is gone,
Gone for each race is over, soon the darker shades will come,
S t i l l t i s sweet to know a t evening we are only nearer home.
Nearer home, nearer home, nearer to our own home,
To the green f i e l d s and the fountain,
To the land beyond the skies.
Click tabs to swap between content that is broken into logical sections.