Singing and whistling on his woodland way,
We thought we heard a happy, careless boy
Filling the forest with a sound of joy
As leafy aisles prolonged each early lay.
The rustling of the silken ranks of corn,
The cry of swimmers in the shady pool,
Sweet, moonlight trysts in evenings calm and cool,
And orchard fragrance on his songs were borne.

Now, in the open glade, take your own place
That waits beneath the greenwood tree of song!
Welcome from those who did not judge you wrong,
But said “A singer,” ere they saw his face.
Take up your reed and charm us once again!
Happy the land where minstrel notes repeat
In newer measures, wild and fresh and sweet,
The simple themes whose beauty cannot wane.

The scenes of toil, the restful hours of peace,
The cabin idyls, prairie gloom and glow,
Make lilt and sing till all the folk shall know
And tell them to the children at their knees!
Aye, pipe and sing each new surprising lay,
And plaudits new if with a greater joy
You fill the ears you pleased when, like a boy,
You sang and whistled on your woodland way!