MOTHER-COUNTRY
She is the mother-country, she,
'Mid fields and hills and mists so gray,
That calls about her tender knee
Her wandering children far away.
'Mid fields and hills and mists so gray,
That calls about her tender knee
Her wandering children far away.
Her voice is like a lullaby.
'Tis O, the mother's arms within
To close awhile the sleepy eye
And feel the time of rest begin!
'Tis O, the mother's arms within
To close awhile the sleepy eye
And feel the time of rest begin!
The sweetest heart, the softest breast,
To win her children and to keep.
There where the dream of rest is best
Rock us to sleep, rock us to sleep!
To win her children and to keep.
There where the dream of rest is best
Rock us to sleep, rock us to sleep!