Good Hunting!--Aye, Good Hunting, Wherever The Forests Call; But Ever A Heart Beats Hot With Fear, And What Of The Birds That Fall? Good Hunting!--Aye, Good Hunting, Wherever The North Winds Blow; But What Of The Stag That Calls For His Mate? And What Of The Wounded Doe? Good Hunting!--Aye, Good Hunting; And Ah! We Are Bold And Strong; But Our Triumph Call Through The Forest Hall Is A Brother'S Funeral Song. For We Are Brothers Ever, Panther And Bird And Bear; Man And The Weakest That Fear His Face, Born To The Nest Or Lair. Yes, Brothers, And Who Shall Judge Us? Hunters And Game Are We; But Who Gave The Right For Me To Smite? Who Boasts When He Smiteth Me? Good Hunting!--Aye, Good Hunting, And Dim Is The Forest Track; But The Sportsman Death Comes Striding On: Brothers, The Way Is Black.