The Light of Other Days

Through the woodlands of the West, Where the skies are always blue, There are visions yet unguessed Of the things we still must do; We must wander on and on Through the golden days of yore, ‘Til we find the loved and lost, In the beauty of the shore.

There are forests yet untried; There are rivers yet unknown; There are wilds that men have spied; There are pastures not yet sown. We must battle—not in vain— For the hope and truth we prize, And we’ll find in every pain, All the beauty of the skies.

• Henry Lawson