Swift as the wind your time will be,
on the isle of mountains by the sea.
There you chase the early morning sun,
a land where ancient and present are as one.
Passing from the west to venture far east,
finding not that distance but joy increased.
So fly, fly through storm and gentle breeze,
to the safe harbor and land which He calls thee.
Knowing full well that home is no one place,
but rather a hand to hold, a familiar face,
the love of family, and a gift of grace.