In hawthorn-time the heart grows light, The world is sweet in sound
and sight, Glad thoughts and birds take flower and flight, The heather
kindles toward the light, The whin is frankincense and flame. And be it for
strife or be it for love The falcon quickens as the dove When earth is
touched from heaven above With joy that knows no name.
And glad in spirit and sad in soul With dream and doubt of days that
roll As waves that race and find no goal Rode on by bush and brake and
bole A northern child of earth and sea. The pride of life before him lay
Radiant: the heavens of night and day Shone less than shone before his
way His ways and days to be.