Away from the roar and the rattle,
⁠The dust and the din of the town,
Where to live is to brawl and to battle,
⁠Till the strong treads the weak man down!
Away to the bonnie green hills
⁠Where the sunshine sleeps on the brae,
And the heart of the greenwood thrills
⁠To the hymn of the bird on the spray.

Away from the smoke and the smother,
⁠The veil of the dun and the brown,
The push and the plash and the pother,
⁠The wear and the waste of the town!
Away where the sky shines clear,
⁠And the light breeze wanders at will,
And the dark pine-wood nods near
⁠To the light-plumed birch on the hill.

Away from the whirling and wheeling,
⁠And steaming above and below,
Where the heart has no leisure for feeling
⁠And the thought has no quiet to grow.
Away where the clear brook purls,
⁠And the hyacinth droops in the shade,
And the plume of the fern uncurls
⁠Its grace in the depth of the glade.

Away to the cottage so sweetly
⁠Embowered 'neath the fringe of the wood,
Where the wife of my bosom shall meet me
⁠With thoughts ever kindly and good;
More dear than the wealth of the world,
⁠Fond mother with bairnies three,
And the plump-armed babe that has curled
⁠Its lips sweetly pouting for me.

Then away from the roar and the rattle
⁠The dust and the din of the town,
Where to live is to brawl and to battle
⁠Till the strong treads the weak man down.
Away where the green twigs nod
⁠In the fragrant breath of the May,
And the sweet growth spreads on the sod,
⁠And the blithe birds sing on the spray.

Weary, and bruised, and bleeding still
⁠From life's sharp thorns, on, on we come:
Down at our Master's feet we drop,
⁠⁠And here are heaven and home!

Safe at those feet, where joy, and pain,
⁠And all that made life dark or bright,
Seem but a mist beneath the sun
⁠⁠Of our supreme delight.

What matter that the world has frowned,
⁠That fortune ever was unkind,
That plans have failed, and cares have pressed?
⁠⁠All, all is far behind!

What matter now, the hard cold words
⁠That smote us when for love we sought?
What matter now? The goal is reached —
⁠⁠The bitter past is nought.

And we can smile a bright, calm smile
⁠At pains whereby our hearts were riven,
And wonder such small things could touch
⁠⁠A soul bound straight for heaven!

Wake from the dream — our glorious then
⁠Shines like a star above our sight:
Our patient now before us lies,
⁠⁠And duty gives the light.

Half covered with last year's leaves,
⁠She peeped from her russet bed;
The great bare branches of the trees
⁠Were tossed and swayed overhead;
The hedge looked barre'n and prickly,
⁠Without the sign of a leaf;
Over the flower there bowed a heart
⁠Grown cold with the snows of grief.

The violet's fragile petals
⁠Enfolded a heart of gold,
And a deeper wealth of perfume
⁠Than the tiny cup could hold;
So the great wind roaring above
⁠Sent a tiny zephyr down,
To drift aside the sheltering bloom,
⁠And bereave her of her crown.

It stole the familiar scent,
⁠To give to the burdened heart,
With only a cold north wind
⁠In the world to take its part:
The flower died in the bleak March air,
⁠And the heart went on its way;
The violet's life was blooming there,
⁠And melting the snows away.

Come, when the spring the leaf unfolds,
And calls the swallow from afar;
When earth the flower no more withholds,
And beauty wakes in bird and star.
⁠⁠In vain the star's soft ray,
⁠⁠In vain the wild bird's lay,
⁠⁠⁠Unless thou come,
⁠⁠⁠Thou wanderer, home;
Thou, to my heart new life, to be,
Spring, with thy gracious gifts to me.