WHEN we steal from the selfish world away
To dream of fame through the live-long day,
In the dusky shade of the forest pine,
'Tis then the heart revels in visions divine.

Let the scornful sons of earth deride--
Oh, what to us is the sneer of pride?
The wings of thought to our souls are given,
And they bear us aloft to highest heaven.

Let the usurer squander his soul for gain--
Let the victor exult o'er his victims slain;
While in nature's glass we our God behold,
We barter our joys not for conquest or gold.

The winds go forth on the stormy sea,
And the dews descend upon flower and tree;
The sun afar sheds golden light,
And the moon is a crown on the brow of night.

He who sends light, and the dews, and the winds,
He breathes the soft breathings of song on our minds;
And the lowliest bard that this earth e'er trod,
Has had gleams of joy from the throne of his God.

Then wake we the harp to music sweet,
And lay we our cares at the Saviour's feet;
For to us, the Sons of Song, 'tis given
To join the secret choirs of heaven.