Richard Hovey

For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.

For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.

For 't is always fair weather
When good fellows get together
With a stein on the table read more

For 't is always fair weather
When good fellows get together
With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear.

And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and
sold,
The wealth of read more

And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and
sold,
The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold.

I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall read more

I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall be high, I only know it shall be great.

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
read more

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
All the mountain-prisoned rivers,
And thy great heart beats and quivers,
To revive the days that were.