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"Come back, to the tidal sun," The Angel of Morning said. "There are no more songs to be won From the sad new pulseless dead; But the pine-wood throbs with the truth It sang to the heart of a boy! Come back, to the hills of youth, Enjoyer and giver of joy. "Come back, to the tidal sea And its great storm-guiding tune, By the service of law set free To sing with the sun and the moon; To pulse with the blood and the breath, And to ebb ere the flow can cloy, In the rhythm of life and death, Enjoyer and giver of joy." |