And the flagging voice began, gathering gusto from the camp-fire, glee from the stars now winking through the pine-tops:—
“Mile after mile in rank or file,
We tramp through field and wood:
Or off we hike down path or pike,
One glorious brotherhood.
Hurrah for the woods, hurrah for the fields,
Hurrah for the life that’s free!
With a body and mind both clean and kind,
The Scout’s is the life for me!”
“Chorus, fellows!” he cried:—
We will fight, fight, fight, for the right, right, right,
“Be prepared” both night and day;
and we’ll shout, shout, shout, for the Scout, Scout, Scout,
for the Scouts of the U.S.A.
The rolling music in the pine-trees, the reedy whistle of the breeze among beeches and birches, soft cluck of rocking branches, the bagpipe skirling of the flames leaping high, fluted and green-edged, all came in on that chorus; together with the four boyish voices and the bark of the dog as he bayed the blaze: the night woods rang for the Scouts of the U.S.A.