My Homeland in the West

By Hettie Geldard, Bradford, England

There’s a crying in the meadow, there’s a sobbing on the breeze,
There’s a yearning in the low wind as it passes through the trees ;
And oh, my heart is calling for the land I love the best,
And fast my tears are falling for my home-land in the West!

Oh, English fields are fair to see, and English hearts are kind,
But ne’er in English scenes and homes my heart’s content I find;
For only in the mountain vales my weary soul finds rest,
The sunny, Wasatch valleys, lying there far in the West!

The snowy peaks stand sentinel o’er fields of waving corn,
The roses blush to greet the sun, as each fair day is born.
This sun, that from the English sky so gladly sinks to rest,
Will shine with added glory soon, o’er my home-land in the West.

Methinks in all the world beside, no flowers bloom so fair,
IS or pine-clad slopes rain perfume on the soft, sun-bathed air;
The mountain streams drop clear and cool from many a lofty crest,
And happy songs are swelling from my home-land in the West.

There’s many a heart is praising God for mercies rich and rare;
There’s many a grateful song rings out from fields and orchards there;
For more than all the world beside, they know that they are blest,
And praise their Maker for it, in my home-land in the West.

And there the Temple rears its head, a stately House of God,
And blesses with its grace the land the Pioneers have trod.
Its benediction sheds o’er all, a peace divinely blest,
And gives still holier beauty to my home-land in the West.

But wearily amid the throng my alien footsteps trend,
And wearily each heavy day slips slowly to its end.
Sweet home of all my heart holds dear, of freedom, hope, and rest,
God grant I tread thy valleys soon, dear home-land in the West!

(1917)