WE'VE wander'd by the well-lov'd ways

That burgeon with remembrances

Of time that's flown:

Our song is low,--a farewell song,--

But its theme shall linger with us long,

Loud blown from out thy breezes, Sedbergh,

To our hearts from out thy breezes blown.

We've seen thee smile and sternly frown;

Or grief or joy becomes thy crown,

Shine-, shadow-dress'd:

Our eyes have drain'd the cup to-day,

But the wine shall ever with us stay,

So press'd from out thy vintage, Sedbergh,

Unto Time from out thy vintage press'd.

Yon kindly peaks, yon fells have seen

Our pleasure, toil, and striving keen,

The songs we've sung:

But Time shall spend his treasuries

Or ever the wingèd Spirit dies,

Far flung from out thy bosom, Sedbergh,

To the world from out thy bosom flung.

O shrouded in the mystic Word,

Thou queenly Servant of the Lord,

Accept, nor scorn:

Sung by the lordly trump of fame,

Shall rise the glory of thy Name

Proud borne upon thy banner, Sedbergh,

To the stars upon thy banner borne.

July, 1912.