By Adam Dickerson
I may no longer live here, but this valley’s still my home.
It’s here to where my heart returns, no matter where on Earth I roam.
In majestic, time-work mountains, in rolling fields of fresh-mown hay,
In peaceful, winding rivers, there’s God’s full glory on display.
The gentle slopes of the Blue Ridge, ablaze with autumn leaves,
The lonesome call of the mourning dove, they put my soul at ease.
The Shenandoah’s a holy place, a valley steeped in history.
Ancient voices echo from the mountains and bid me home as if they miss me.
My heart stays in this valley, no matter where on Earth I roam,
And I pray the Lord brings me back here before he calls me home.
