Join thou their worship on those hills And while the song of praise ascends, Rejoice, that human hearts, through scorn, Through shame, through death, made strong, Before the rocks and heavens have borne Witness of God so long! THE SONGS OF OUR FATHERS. "Sing aloud Old songs, the precious music of the heart." SING them upon the sunny hills, Wordsworth. When days are long and bright, And the blue gleam of shining rills Where ancient hunters rov'd, And swell them through the torrent's roar— The songs their souls rejoic'd to hear And each proud note made lance and spear The songs that through our valleys green, Sent on from age to age, Like his own river's voice, have been The peasant's heritage. The reaper sings them when the vale Cheer'd homeward through the leaves: And unto them the glancing oars A joyous measure keep, Where the dark rocks that crest our shores Dash back the foaming deep. So let it be !-a light they shed O'er each old fount and grove; A memory of the gentle dead, And link high thoughts to every glen Where valiant deeds were done. 122 THE SONGS OF OUR FATHERS. Teach them your children round the hearth, When evening-fires burn clear, And in the fields of harvest mirth, And on the hills of deer! So shall each unforgotten word, When far those lov'd ones roam, The green woods of their native land Shall whisper in the strain, The voices of their household band Sing to your sons those melodies, The songs your fathers lov'd. |