Way Down Upon the Swanee River

With all the power

of one every word

for

far away.

There to all my heart it

will reach a word.

There to all the old

songs stay.

All up and down

the whole

creation

sadly

I roam.

Dear longing for the

old pleasant

hills and

for the old smoke at

home.

All the birds

are sad and dreary everywhere I

roam.

Oh, stark is

how my heart grows

weary

far from the old

smoke at

home.

One little heart

among hundreds here

wants but thy

love.

Dear sandy to my

weary footsteps

no

matter where I

roam.

When shall I see

the meadow

blooming all

around the home?

When shall I hear

the bell

toll ringing low in my good

old home?

All the birds are

sad and

dreary

everywhere

I

roam.

Oh,

stark is how my heart

grows weary

far from the old

smoke

at

home.