Pæan.

SING songs of joy by the foaming tide,
Beings of beauty who sit on the shore!
Let the sweeping winds and the waves that glide,
Bear your sweet notes the wide world o’er.
Stag and fawn through the forest bound;
Children are laughing with merry sound;
Sunlight is flashing all around;
Lovers are sitting holy and still;
The old man wanders at his will;
Gold! Gold! is all I can say,
For all is golden on this happy day.

The rushing river is molten gold,
The wealth of the trees could ne’er be told,
The bank is framed of golden ore,
A hundred golden-rods wave on the shore,
The laugh of the children, the lover’s glance,
The motes, that mid the sunbeams dance,
The songs of the birds and their eyes of joy,
All are of gold without alloy.
E’en the old man’s thoughts like butterfly’s wings
Are woven of gold, and he too sings,
“Joy! oh joy for this golden day,
I know it shall never pass away!”