Last Of The Gifford Line

Written by Jack Foster

The rock that peter's farm lies on, is aged as old as time

and the ageing hands that till the land, are the last of the gifford line

in the shade of the mountain valley fair, and the roarin of the sea

oh the gifford line doth near its end, and the land yearns to be free

as this year's harvest decks the land, like every year before

through furrowed lines of toil and time, through famine  loss and war

the farmhouse stands in silence now, and the wind drifts o'er the lea

oh the gifford line doth near its end, and the land yearns to be free

the seasons passed and children grew, they heard the city's cry

and others sailed for better worlds, with a sadness in their eye

through cold and wet and lonely years, their numbers fell to three

oh the gifford line doth near its end, and the land yearns to be free

and underneath a veil of frost, the ancient valley shone

the winter fever passed him by, but left him all alone

so the farmhouse stands in silence now, and the wind drifts o'er the lea

oh the gifford line doth near its end, and the land yearns to be free

The rock that peter's farm lies on, is aged as old as time

and the ageing hands that till the land, are the last of the gifford line

in the shade of the mountain valley fair, and the roarin of the sea

oh the gifford line doth near its end, and the land yearns to be free