Hail, happy thought--
Sweet, happy thought
Of boyish days!
Can hope no more arise?
Can I no more surmise
That they will come again?
All happy sport!
All sweet resort
To merry games,
To which, with spirit light,
I often did unite
In free and boy-like glee!
The welcome call
To bat and ball
I used to hear
With that intense delight,
So free, and pure, and bright,
Which only boys can know.
The merry gambols
And country rambles
I loved to join,
With admiration high,
To which no fear was nigh.
Are they for ever gone?
Yes, they are gone--
For ever gone;
In time's abyss
I see them foundering fast;
It soon will be the last--,
The dying breath of them.
'Tis sorrow now
Bedecks my brow,
And sorry care
Lies waiting in my path;
Prevailing power it hath
To bear the spirit down.
But let me rise
To win the prize,
Which is for those
Who triumph o'er despair,
And, passing every care,
Fight bravely to the end.