It howls through the hills and it pants round the world!
It furrows the forest and lashes the flood,
And hovers the miles like a partridge's brood.
Oh! stand ye to-day in the door of the heart,
With its nerve raveled out floating free on the air,
And feeling its way with ethereal art
By the flash of the Telegraph everywhere,
And then think, if you can, of a mission more grand
Than a mission to LIVE in this time and this land;
Round the World for a sweetheart an arm you can wind,