Hey Nonny No

There is a race from eld descent, Of heaven by earth in joyous mood, Before the world grew wise and bent In sad, decadent attitude. To these each waking is a birth That makes them heir to all the earth, Singing, for pure abandoned mirth, Non nonny non, hey nonny no. Perchance ye meet them in the mart, In fashion’s toil or folly’s throe, And yet their souls are far apart Where primrose winds from uplands blow. At heart on oaten pipes they play Thro’ meadows green and gold with May, Affined to bird and brook and brae. Sing nonny non, hey nonny no. Their gage they win in fame’s despite, While lyric alms to life they fling,— Children of laughter, sons of light, With equal heart to starve or sing. Counting no human creature vile, They find the good old world worth while; Care cannot rob them of a smile. Sing nonny non, hey nonny no. For creed, the up-reach of a spire, An arching elm-tree’s leafy spread, A song that lifts the spirit higher To star or sunshine overhead. Misfortune they but deem God’s jest To prove His children at their best, Who, dauntless, rise to His attest. Sing nonny non, hey nonny no. Successful ones will brush these by, Calling them failure as they pass. What reck they this who claim the sky For roof, for bed the cosmic grass! When, failures all, we come to lie, The grass betwixt us and the sky, The gift of gladness will not die! Sing nonny non, hey nonny no.