From dreams of past days and our forefathers’ ways
Their huts or their habits by moorland or rill,
We trace our way home, where all are welcome,
To Cullybackey – the haven behind the hill.

Old pads are now roads to carry fresh loads
Of produce prolific wherever you will;
Visit the bright street where wives make home sweet
At Cullybackey – new haven beside the hill.

Come shine or come shower, each days’ early hour
Brings busy feet tripping to work with goodwill;
From fort, field, or fen, at frame or with pen,
In Cullybackey – our haven below the hill.

Like larks to the nest, entranced east and west,
Through ways broad or narrow, that open like gills.
They meet face to face, each seeking their place
In Cullybackey – old hollow between the hills.

The blessings germane that come by the Maine,
Whose waters flow gently, do always fulfil
Life’s daily office, with prejudice,
At Cullybackey – kind haven behind the hill.

Each picturesque scene, around and between
Dunminning, Dromona, Hillmount and Gracehill.
Give artists the cue for many a Bellevue
Near Cullybackey – fond haven close to the hill.

It has shed no tears these last thirty years,
But smiles in the sunshine, fearing no ill;
To its old resort comes railway support
And a new name – “Newblythe” – out from the hill.

J. Townsley, Cullybackey, 15th May 1920

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