Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.
Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
There's no glory like those who save their country.
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet- Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.