For sad and painful is the fate

For sad and painful is the fate Of those who roam abroad too late; And well may Brownies bear in mind The hills and vales they leave behind, When far from native haunts they run, As oft they do, in quest of fun. But, ere they turned to leave the strand, They made a vow with lifted hand That every year, when summer's glow Had warmed the ocean spread below, They'd journey far from grove and glen To sport in rolling surf again.