Out-Worn Heart, In A Time Out-Worn, Come Clear Of The Nets Of Wrong And Right; Laugh Heart Again In The Gray Twilight, Sigh, Heart, Again In The Dew Of The Morn. Your Mother Eire Is Always Young, Dew Ever Shining And Twilight Gray; Though Hope Fall From You And Love Decay, Burning In Fires Of A Slanderous Tongue. Come, Heart, Where Hill Is Heaped Upon Hill: For There The Mystical Brotherhood Of Sun And Moon And Hollow And Wood And River And Stream Work Out Their Will; And God Stands Winding His Lonely Horn, And Time And The World Are Ever In Flight; And Love Is Less Kind Than The Gray Twilight, And Hope Is Less Dear Than The Dew Of The Morn.