Sure with each spring the singers come

Striking their medly songs again

Of love and youth all things fair

And good in eyes of men.

Old songs are new and new are old,

As each new poet makes his way,

Singing the winder of all God's world,

His nightfall, and His day.

While mean can still see beauty

Each new spring that blossoms at the door,

THere shall be hope that that One Voice

Will surely speak, once more