For the days that are old are the days that were young.
O the days of our youth, what memories they fill!
We looked on her then, and we look on her still.
Who now blind once beheld her, to her are not blind,
They treasure their queen in their innermost mind;
Who deaf once gave ear to the tones of her voice,
Remember them still, in her accents rejoice.
Chorus.
Since hath the gracious sun
Fifty times his year begun,