1 O! ye mountains high, where the clear blue sky Arches over the vales of the free, Where the pure breezes blow And the clear streamlets flow, How I've long to your bosom to flee. O Zion! dear Zion! home of the free: My own mountain home now to thee I have come; All my fond hopes are centred in thee. 2 Though the great and the wise all thy beauties despise, To the humble and pure thou art dear; Though the haughty male smile And the wicked revile, Yet we love thy glad tidings to hear. O Zion! dear Zion! home of the free; Though thou wert forced to fly to thy chambers on high, Yet we'll share joy or sorrow with thee. 3 In thy mountan retreat, God will strengthen thy feet; On the necks of thy foes thou shalt tread; And their silver and gold, as the Prophets have told, Shall be brought to adorn thy fair head. O Zion! Dear Zion! home of the free; Soon thy towers will shine with a splendor divine, And eternal thy glory shall be. 4 Here our voices we'll raise, and we'll sing to thy praise, Sacred home of the Prophets of God; Thy deliverance is nigh, thy oppressors shall die, And the Gentiles shall bow 'neath thy rod. O Zion! dear Zion! home of the free In thy temples we'll bend, all thy rights we'll defend And our home shall be ever with thee.