LITTLE GLENS OF ANTRIM
The little glens of Antrim
Are rolling to the sea,
And mid London’s rush and roar
They always call to me,
In early morning sunlight,
And when evening shadows fall,
Sure I’m always dreaming
Of old Cushendall.

The little glens of Antrim,
Through London’s mighty din,
Troth they give my heart squeeze
Their peace comes stealing in.
I cannot think for dreaming
Of where the Maine flows,
I smell the scented jasmine
From where the shamrock grows.

The little glens of Antrim,
They steal my heart away;
I see them drenched in moonlight,
And at break o’ day.
London’s full of pleasure,
But my heart keeps turning back
To a little glen in Antrim
And a whitewashed shack.

H. H. McFall Richmond-on-Thames 20th April 1928