Eugene Field

* * *

Over the hills and far away,
A little boy steals from his morning play,
And under the blossoming apple-tree
He lies and dreams of the things to be:
Of battles fought and of victories won,
Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds 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 of 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 trustfulness and the friends of youth,
Home and mother--where are they?
Over the hills and far away--
    Over the hills and far away!