Lad, the mighty hills are calling,
Hills of promise gleaming bright,
And the floods of sunshine falling
Fill their deepest vales with light.
There the young dawn's golden fire
Beckons to a brighter day,
Untrod paths of youths' desire,
Heights unconquered far away.
Steep and dark and spectre-haunted
Winds the pathway to the height;
Sturdy youth with heart undaunted
Deems the toiling short and light.
Short or long, an easy Master,
Gives each tired toiler rest,
Counts not failure or disaster
If the striving be the best.
Go lad, go, 'tis Life that calls you,
Mates of old must soothe their pain,
Mindless of whate'er befalls you
If but honour still remain.