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There's a river that runs through the hills at my home,
Where in childhood we played on its' shore.
The pebbles that gleam in its' glistening stream.
Are as dear to my heart as of yore.
In the gold autumn days,
when the cows ceased to graze,
They would stand in its cool flowing tide
At the window my Mother would gaze on the scene,
Of its beauties she ne'er seemed to tire.
There oft' when her gentle hands rested at eve.
She would speak of the days that would come.
When her spirit would linger, though she would be gone.
From the door of her old cabin home.
How her chair is laid by.
Her spinning-wheel too,
Which as children we gazed on with joy.
We watched he with pride as she carded the wool,
That she spun to make socks for her boys.
Oft' in the evening Dad played his violin.
The old fashioned tunes they loved best,
Auld Lang Syne and Nellie G-ray,
Often our slumbers caressed.
The cow paths that wind through the woods in the vale.
In memories I follow them still,
I hear the cow-bell and the birds overhead,
And the howl of the wild whip-or-will.
The old fishing rock where we gathered at eve.
To sing and make merry and Jest,
The radiant sunset we gazed on with joy.
As it sank out of sight in the west.
Then we danced on the road at my old Uncle's door.
By the light of the silvery moon.
The joys we all shared as the days sped away.
Those days that left us so soon.
That joyful old valley still dear to our hearts.
With the pleasures and joys we all knew.
The Red River Valley still rings in our ears.
As parting friends bid us adieu.
But the old have departed, the young grown old.
Our faces are turned to the west.	
When lifes' journey is done 
May we all gather home
Once more in that valley of rest.
BY Tine Kingshott