Oh, see, I see the great mountains,
Oh, see, I see the high mountains,
Oh, see, I see the raves,
The peaks and the mist of my home.

I will see the peaks of my birthplace,
Hear my own Mother Tongue, taste its embrace,
I will be welcomed as more than a guest
In the sweet-sounding language of home.

There I see thicket and there I see wood,
Fair, fertile fields all green and good.
I see the deer on the ground of the ravens,
Clothed in the mist of my home.

The mountains are high, the slopes are shaped by the wind,
The people who live there are kind and they are my kin.
My step is light and I know they will take me in.
I'll be awhile in my home.