And, oh! what beautiful years were these When our hearts clung each to each; When life was filled and our senses thrilled In the first faint dawn of … - Langdon Smith

God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds And furnished them wings to fly;
We sowed our spawn in the world's dim dawn, And I know that it shall not die,
Though cities have sprung above the graves Where the crook–bone men made war
And the ox–wain creaks o'er the buried caves Where the mummied mammoths are.

Our love is old, our lives are old, And death shall come amain;
Should it come today, what man may say We shall not live again?

Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes, Loud answered our kith and kin;
From west and east to the crimson feast The clan came tramping in.