Up the chalky path we wander,
Higher, higher still—
Gather thyme and hawkweed slender,
Bluebells of the hill;
Pale musk mallows by the cornfields,
Poppies bright and bold,
Scabious like the evening purple,
Gems amongst the gold.
And the knapweed and the bindweed,
Yarrow pink and white,
And St. John’s wort golden tufted,
Everywhere delight!
Up the chalky path we wander,
Higher, higher still,
Now upon the sunny hill-top
We can rest at will.
Far below the quiet valleys
Farms and sheep-cotes lie,
All above us deep and cloudless
Glows the summer sky.
Lying there we look in wonder
Through the skies afar,
Where unseen to us, are shining
Thousand thousand stars.
When the daylight sinks in purple
O’er the silent plain,
One by one, like gathering angels,
They appear again.
Soon, oh soon, the sweet still evening
Of our days will come—
Then will shine the hidden glory
Of our Father’s home.
Thousand, thousand radiant faces,
Faces of the past,
Our belovèd, hidden from us,
Smile to us at last.
Wonderful and blessèd evening—
Sudden, sweet surprise—
We shall hear the ancient voices,
See the long-lost eyes.
Here upon the sunny hill-top
Let us thank and praise,
For the blessèd eve that follows
All our summer days.