No place for me in the summer weather,
No home, no town, but mountain tops.
I’ve heard the call of hills of heather;
I’ve pulled my stake, I’ve cut the tether
That tied me down to stuffy shops,
No place for me in the summer weather,
No home, no town, but mountain tops.
Here, from the hill-tops of my yearning,
‘Tis good to watch the God of Day
With sunsets grand the west adorning,
Or opening golden gates of morning
On heaven’s hill-tops far away.
Here, from the hill-tops of my yearning
‘Tis good to watch the God of Day.
I love the hills and the wild wide spaces,
Where heather waves and whiteheads nod;
The mountain crowns and bright brae faces –
Earth’s fairest, most forsaken places –
Beloved by saints and blest by God.
I love the hills and the wild wide spaces,
Where heather waves and whiteheads nod.
MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS’
Foremass, Sixmilecross, Tyrone.