I stand beside the old home gate.
How fresh and cool the air!
The bells have tolled the hour of eight.
No vesper chimes e'er emulate
A summer eve more rare.
The playful branches to and fro
Romp with the roguish breeze,
As restlessly they come and go
And cast their shifting shades below,
Dark silhouettes 'neath the trees.
A monster train on distant road
Disturbs the quiet hour
With throb and beat. It seems to goad
Itself with the tremendous load
To show its giant power.
O Thou who made the summer night,
My heart burns with desire
To match the engine in its might,
To know the truth, to do the right,
And lift life's standard higher.
