Page:Josephine Daskam--Sister's vocation.djvu/16

You stand at the brim o' the hill, little girl,
And look with a sweet despair
At the melting hill-tops of purple red,
With the fleecy bars of the blue o'er head,
And you want to be running still, little girl,
To the country of Over There.

Oh, a brave, brave country it shows, little girl,
With colors and trappings rare,
A bustle of happy sounds and sights,
A glistening current of sweet delights,
Where everyone's known and knows, little girl,
In the country of Over There.

There are strains of a sweeter song, little girl,
Than hearts of this land can bear.
There are delicate whispers and flitting feet,
And gay, bright laughing at pleasures fleet,
Where nothing but sorrow's wrong, little girl,
In that country of Over There.

But no one can tell you the way, little girl,
To that land so dear and fair;
It glows in the sunset pools of light,
It shines in the starry clouds at night,
And only your heart can stray, little girl,
To the country of Over There.