WHERE do they go, these shining rails
That ramble so far away
That seem to reach where the twilight pales
At the beautiful gates of day?”
“They run to the wider world, my boy,
Of dreaming, and strife, and again,
With its mingling of weariness and joy,
To the city--and back again.
Out of the valley and o’er the hill
Where childhood has had its day,
Out of the hamlet so small and still
And into the far away,
On, on to the world of toil, my lad,
With its struggle of brawn and brain,
Some of it good and some of it bad,
To the city--and back again.