AN OLD SONG

It's Oh, for the hills, where the wind's some one

With a vagabond foot that follows!

And a cheer-up hand that he claps upon

Your arm with the hearty words, “Come on!

We'll soon be out of the hollows,

My heart!

We'll soon be out of the hollows!”

It's Oh, for the songs, where the hope's some one

With a renegade foot that doubles!

And a kindly look that he turns upon

Your face with the friendly laugh, “Come on!

We'll soon be out of the troubles,

My heart!

We'll soon be out of the troubles!”