‘Tis long since we bid them farewell,
One morning, with blessings and tears,
Their farm at the foot of the fell,
A stranger has tilled it for years.
Beyond the wide sea is their home;
Yet still we remember them best,
And welcome the letters that come,
FRom our cousins far off in the west.
They tell us of forests and floods,
With names never heard on our shore,
Of towns growing up, where the woods
Had waved but the summer before;
Of churches and homes like our own,
Where families labour and rest,
No strangers to us have they grown,
Our cousins far off in the west.