I stood upon a hilltop
in Hopewell long ago...
and saw the patchwork of the farmlands,
and the woodlands far below.

The brisk air caught my form
and I felt that I could fly...
As the wild birds' warbles echoed
o'er the hills into the sky.

O'er the hills of Hopewell
where my love dwelt...
He'd whisper gentle love words
where the blossoms fell.

White is the church spire in the meadow
where we'd wed someday...
And he'd carry me home to the cottage
where the wild flowers bloomed so gay.

O'er the winding road we went
to the churchyard far below...
Entwined our love forever more
as the fair wild roses grow.

The sweetness of the blossom's scent
still lingers in the dell...
And caresses the memory
of those days in old Hopewell.