‘Stepping westward,’ did she say,
At sunset on that long Scotch day?
‘Stepping westward,’ yes, alway,
With staff and scrip,
Wayfaring songs upon my lip,
Stepping, stepping, to the end.

As down the slanting path I wend,
Behold, a breadth of distant sea,
Between the hills on either hand,
Ships bearing from some unknown land
To other land unknown to me.

‘Stepping westward,’ all that be,
Body and soul, by land or sea,
Follow still the westering sun;
That must end which has begun.