I
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, 
Ere I waken in the city?Life, thy dawn makes all things new! 
And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men, 
Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again! 


Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, 
O mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you, 
By the little path I know, with the sea far below, 
And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and snow 


As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung 
And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense flung 
From the mountain-heights of joy, for a careless-hearted boy, 
And the lavrocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne?er could cloy, 


From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and broom, 
With a song to God the Giver, o?er that waste of wild perfume; 
Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light, 
While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night, 


So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise, 
And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise. 
Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come to you, 
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew. 


II


Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, 
Floats a brother?s face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you? 
For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind! 
But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind; 


And I shall not lose the way from the darkness to the day, 
While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aye; 
And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again, 
And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain. 


To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho? eyeless Death may thrust 
All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust; 
And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme 
Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme. 


And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow, 
Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below. 
Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I come to you, 
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.