"Come back, to the tidal sun,"
The Angel of Morning said.
"There are no more songs to be won
From the sad new pulseless dead;
But the pine-wood throbs with the truth
It sang to the heart of a boy!
Come back, to the hills of youth,
Enjoyer and giver of joy.
"Come back, to the tidal sea
And its great storm-guiding tune,
By the service of law set free
To sing with the sun and the moon;
To pulse with the blood and the breath,
And to ebb ere the flow can cloy,
In the rhythm of life and death,
Enjoyer and giver of joy."