Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
Man's word is God in man.
Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.
Love will conquer at the last.
The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.