Going—the great round Sun,
Dragging the captive Day
Over behind the frowning hill.
Over beyond the bay—
Dying:
Coming—the dusky Night,
Silently stealing in,
Wrapping himself in the soft, warm couch
Where the golden-haired Day had been
Lying.
Going—the bright, blithe spring:
Blossoms! how fast ye fall,
Shooting out of your starry sky
Into the darkness all
Blindly!
Coming—the mellow days;
Crimson and yellow leaves;
Languishing purple and amber fruits
Kissing the bearded sheaves
Kindly!
Going—our early friends;
Voices we loved are dumb;
Footsteps grow dim in the morning dew;
Fainter the echoes come
Ringing:
Coming to join our march—
Shoulder to shoulder pressed—
Gray-haired veterans strike their tents
For the far-off purple west,
Singing!
Going—this old, old life;
Beautiful world! farewell!
Forest and meadow! river and hill!
Ring ye a loving knell
O'er us!
Coming—a nobler life;
Coming—a better land;
Coming—the long, long, nightless day;
Coming—the grand, grand
Chorus!
