Here In The Pungent Gloom Where The Tamarac Roses Glow And The Balsam Burns Its Perfume, A Vireo Turns His Slow Cadence, As If He Gloated Over The Last Phrase He Floated; Each One He Moulds And Mellows Matching It With Its Fellows: So Have You Noted How The Oboe Croons, The Canary-Throated, In The Gloom Of The Violoncellos And Bassoons. But Afar In The Thickset Forest I Hear A Sound Go Free, Crashing The Stately Neighbours The Pine And The Cedar Tree, Horns And Harps And Tabors, Drumming And Harping And Horning In Savage Minstrelsy - It Wakes In My Soul A Warning Of The Wind Of Destiny. My Life Is Soaring And Swinging In Triple Walls Of Quiet, In My Heart There Is Rippling And Ringing A Song With Melodious Riot, When A Fateful Thing Comes Nigh It A Hush Falls, And Then I Hear In The Thickset World The Wind Of Destiny Hurled On The Lives Of Men.