Pilgrim Song

Over the mountain wave, see where they come;
Storm-cloud and wintry wind welcome them home;
Yet, where the sounding gale howls to the sea,
There their song peals along, deep-toned and free:
"Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come;
Where the free dare to be — this is our home!"
England hath sunny dales, dearly they bloom;
Scotia hath heather-hills, sweet their perfume:
Yet through the wilderness cheerful we stray,
Native land, native land — home far away!
"Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come;
Where the- free dare to be — this is our home!"
Dim grew the forest-path: onward they trod;
Firm beat their noble hearts, trusting in Gob!
Gray men and blooming maids, high rose their song;
Hear it sweep, clear and deep, ever along:
"Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come;
Where the free dare to be — this is our home!"
Not theirs the glory-wreath, torn by the blast;
Heavenward their holy steps, heavenward they past!
Green be their mossy graves! ours be their fame,
While their song peals along, ever the same:
"Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come;
Where the free dare to be — this is our home!"