There is no escape by the river, There is no flight left by the fen; We are compassed about by the shiver Of the night of their marching men. Give a cheer! For our hearts shall not give way. Here's to a dark to-morrow, And here's to a brave to-day! The tale of their hosts is countless, And the tale of ours a score; But the palm is naught to the dauntless, And the cause is more and more. Give a cheer! We may die, but not give way. Here's to a silent morrow, And here's to a stout to-day! God has said: "Ye shall fail and perish; But the thrill ye have felt to-night I shall keep in my heart and cherish When the worlds have passed in night." Give a cheer! For the soul shall not give way. Here's to the greater to-morrow That is born of a great to-day! Now shame on the craven truckler And the puling things that mope! We've a rapture for our buckler That outwears the wings of hope. Give a cheer! For our joy shall not give way. Here's in the teeth of to-morrow To the glory of to-day! The Joy of the Hills. [Edwin Markham] I ride on the mountain tops, I ride; I have found my life and am satisfied. Onward I ride in the blowing oats, Checking the field-lark's rippling notes -- Lightly I sweep From steep to steep: Over my head through the branches high Come glimpses of a rushing sky; The tall oats brush my horse's flanks; Wild poppies crowd on the sunny banks; A bee booms out of the scented grass; A jay laughs with me as I pass. I ride on the hills, I forgive, I forget Life's hoard of regret -- All the terror and pain Of the chafing chain. Grind on, O cities, grind: I leave you a blur behind. I am lifted elate -- the skies expand: Here the world's heaped gold is a pile of sand. Let them weary and work in their narrow walls: I ride with the voices of waterfalls! I swing on as one in a dream -- I swing Down the airy hollows, I shout, I sing! The world is gone like an empty word: My body's a bough in the wind, my heart a bird! The Lesser Children. [Ridgely Torrence] A Threnody at the Hunting Season In the middle of August when the southwest wind Blows after sunset through the leisuring air, And on the sky nightly the mythic hind Leads down the sullen dog star to his lair, After the feverous vigil of July, When the loud pageant of the year's high noon Passed up the ways of time to sing and part, Grief also wandered by From out the lovers and the leaves of June, And by the wizard spices of his hair I knew his heart was very Love's own heart. Deep within dreams he led me out of doors As from the upper vault the night outpours, And when I saw that to him all the skies Yearned as a sea asleep yearns to its shores, He took a little clay and touched my eyes.