His Song Of Dawn Outsoars The Joyful Bird, Swift On The Weary Road His Footfall Comes; The Dusty Air That By His Stride Is Stirred Beats With A Buoyant March Of Fairy Drums. "Awake, O Earth! Thine Ancient Slumber Break; To The New Day, O Slumbrous Earth, Awake!" Yet Long Ago That Merry March Began, His Feet Are Older Than The Path They Tread; His Music Is The Morning-Song Of Man, His Stride The Stride Of All The Valiant Dead; His Youngest Hopes Are Memories, And His Eyes Deep With The Old, Old Dream That Never Dies.