The places he frequented long ago;
On memories’ wings he flies again to his dear mother’s knee.
’Tis then we hear him whisper soft and low.
REFRAIN
Good-bye to dear old Alaska.
I’m going across the sea,
Back to the dear old home land,
My country, the land of the free.
I can picture a love nest at twilight
Where the old folks for me sit and pine,