At heart on oaten pipes they play
Thro' meadows green and gold with May,
Affined to bird and brook and brae.
Sing nonny non, hey nonny no.
Their gage they win in fame's despite,
While lyric alms to life they fling;
Children of laughter, sons of light,
With equal heart to starve or sing.
Counting no human creature vile,
They find the good old world worth while;