Gone is the season when youth's hopeful ray 
Allured us to woods and green fields far away; 
When, gay and light-hearted, to gather rare flowers 
We roam'd in the woodlands for hours and hours,
And over the hill-top, and down to the nook
Where Nature, sweet teacher of God's great book,
Taught us to love those pure gems of the plain : --
But come, brothers, come, let us cull them again. 

'Tis true they are simple -- those bonnie wild flowers, 
But do they not whisper of happier hours, --
Reminding us ever of days that are gone,
When love and pure friendship both mingled in one;
When the heart was all kindness and free from all guile, 
And the face wore one beautiful ne'er-changing smile? 
Oh! since those sweet flow'rets we cannot retain,
While the summer sun lasts let us cull them again. 

Only think for a moment how sweet it must be 
To live with the blue-bell and feast with the bee, -- 
To roam the green dells all the summer-time long, 
And beguile the soft hours with music and song; 
For we still have great love for the roses so fair, 
And deem them as lovely as ever they were;
We still love to wander down any green lane, 
If 'tis only to cull the wild violets again. 

Old Time may pass on, but he ne'er will return
With the aspect he wore on life's jubilant morn; 
He ne'er will restore us one hope that has fled,
Or a fond heart that sleeps in the house of the dead: 
But seasons will follow and flowers will bloom
To cheer our lone spirits in sorrow and gloom, -- 
And while those sweet wildings of nature remain,
We'll cull them, dear brothers, again and again.