“Thou who hast gone before,

Hither! and sing us a song,

Far from the round of the town and the sound of the great world’s roar!”

O masterful voice of Youth;

That will have, like the upland wind, its own wild way!

O choral words, that with every season rise

Like the warblings of orchard-birds at break of day!

O faces, fresh with the light of morning skies!

No marvel world-worn toilers seek you here,

Even as they life renew, from year to year,