The fondest thoughts of childhood’s day twine ’round thee, dear old hill,
And as I gaze, thy bare, bleak braes with love my bosom thrill;
For all the hills that stud earth’s breast and foreign countries fill,
I love thee more than all the rest, oh, dear old South Side Hill.
Oh, dear old South Side Hill, old rugged, scraggy hill,
I look with pride on thy sun-brown side, oh, dear old South Side Hill!
I love each nook, each darling brook, each copse of russet brown,
Each gully, pond and laughing brook, that tumbles rattling down;
I love thee bathed in summer sun, with opal light aglow,
Or robed in wintry garment, spun from wool of silken snow.
Oh, dear old South Side Hill, old rugged, scraggy hill,
I look with pride on thy sun-brown side, oh, dear old South Side Hill!
I’ve seen the hills that proudly stand and stretch from shore to shore,
In many a bright and favored land far-famed in song and lore;
But, oh! there’s none so dear as thou, old shaggy South Side Hill,
For thy iron front and beetling brow my soul with rapture fill.
Oh, dear old South Side Hill, old rugged, scraggy hill,
I look with pride on thy sun-brown side, oh, dear old South Side Hill!
I’ve seen Killarney’s lofty reeks, and noble Galitee Mor,
Ben Lomond’s and Ben Nevis’ peaks, and Snowdon’s Glyder Fawr;
The lordly Alp, and Appenine, and Hermon’s sacred height,
But with all their charms there’s none like thine can cheer my weary sight.
Oh, dear old South Side Hill, old rugged, scraggy hill,
I look with pride on thy sun-brown side, oh, dear old South Side Hill!
Thou standest o’er our harbor’s mouth, like sentry stern and hoar,
And shield’st from the stormy south and wild Atlantic’s roar;
When breakers blanch the ocean’s crest and surges dash thy side,
Within thy shelt’ring arms at rest our ships securely ride.
Oh, dear old South Side Hill, old rugged, scraggy hill,
I look with pride on thy sun-brown side, oh, dear old South Side Hill!