That land afore from which I sprang calls true

As church bells clear upon a Sunday morn,

The memories of all I once well knew

Come rushing back on echoes I have borne;

The homestead springs to sight in green and gold,

Pastoral scenes lay burnished by the sun;

Sweet memories rise in tears my eyes can’t hold

And silver rivulets down worn cheeks now run.

Bright sparkle still the lakes and streams I swam,

The trees I scarred with hearts of love presumed,

Green hills resound with youthful songs I sang,

Broad pastured fields soft silvered by the moon.

A boy once left those moors, broad earth to roam…

And of a world so wide, still calls them home.