There's a little white house that stands all alone
In a field of red clover that's newly been sown.
Oh, it stands in my memory, this place I call mine,
This little white house on the Old Bell Line. 

Now the Old Bell Line is an old winding road,
For a mightly long time it's carried its load.
In the city my thoughts often drift through that gate,
And it seems at times I hardly can wait.

For that little white house that stands all alone,
With an acre of land that I now call my home.
When the time comes to leave this big city behind,
I'll move to that house on the Old Bell Line.

At times I've been lonely when the log shadows fall,
But I find consolation within these old walls.
It's lifted me up when I hadn't a dime,
This little white house on the Old Bell Line.

Where the pine and the maple sigh soft in the breeze,
And there's welcoming shade from my two apple trees.
Sometimes I sit and reflect on the years that have gone,
And I count all the blessings I have in this home.

When I go to the city in the sweltering heat,
How I wish I was back there, sure would be a treat.
But springtime is coming and that sure is a sign,
To move to that house on the Old Bell Line.

When I last come to the end of my years,
When I can throw off some silly old fears,
I'll have a new house and it sure will be fine,
Like the little white house on the Old Bell Line.