Tramping

OH! it’s good to be alive, man, Good to take the road and tramp, When the morning smells of meadows, And the lanes are cool and damp.

And the little furry creatures Think the world is theirs for play, Sitting still to watch you coming, Half afraid to run away.

There’s just light enough to see by, Growing stronger as you go; And the air is sort o’ hushed-like, Breathing very long and slow.

And the mountains near by Monmouth Seem to melt into the sky; And the banks along of Ross way Seem to melt into the Wye.

And there’s not a human stirring, To disturb the field or fen. Oh! you’ll never find your God, man, If you do not find Him then!