Gaily away and steady ye go,
Never a faltering line:
Forward! I follow and try to know
Word of your countersign:
Hist! The spies of the tyrant sun
Eagerly watch your plan,
Lavish with bribes of gold, they run
Down to your outmost man.
Steady, good lads, go bravely on
By the parching hills of pain,
An armor of shade ye soon may don
And meet the allies of rain:
And night in the bivouac hours will sing
Praise of the march ye made,
And into your pockets good gold will bring,
Men of the Green Brigade.
Yea, and upon September's field,
When the long campaign is done,
With arms up-stacked, your hearts will yield
Conquest of rain and sun:
The pennants and plumes will then be sere,
Your pearls delight no morn,
But tents of plenty will bless the year,
Brave Grenadiers of Corn.
42
ALLELUIA HEIGHT
Obedience to the seasons' marshall-rod,
That is a law of God,
Here beauty passes with her gorgeous train,
On paths that range from bud to grain.
O, here the searching eyes
In traffic for the soul's good gain
Earn wealth of rare delight.
Far pathways of surprise,
In color's frumenty bedight,
Lead off from avenues of day
Through miles of pageantries:
And from the starry chancels of the night
And the inscrutable farther skies,
Beyond where trackless comets stray,
Outspreads a world in thought's array.
And lo! the heart's true voices sing
>From the exulting reverent breast,
And lips proclaim, with adoration blessed,
Glad Alleluias to the King.
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