Chorus From 'Lincoln'

You who have gone gathering      Cornflowers and meadowsweet,     Heard the hazels glancing down      On September eves,     Seen the homeward rooks on wing      Over fields of golden wheat,     And the silver cups that crown      Water-lily leaves;     You who know the tenderness      Of old men at eve-tide,     Coming from the hedgerows,      Coming from the plough,     And the wandering caress      Of winds upon the woodside,     When the crying yaffle goes      Underneath the bough;     You who mark the flowing      Of sap upon the May-time,     And the waters welling      From the watershed,     You who count the growing      Of harvest and hay-time,     Knowing these the telling      Of your daily bread;     You who cherish courtesy      With your fellows at your gate,     And about your hearthstone sit      Under love's decrees,     You who know that death will be      Speaking with you soon or late,     Kinsmen, what is mother-wit      But the light of these?     Knowing these, what is there more      For learning in your little years?     Are not these all gospels bright      Shining on your day?     How then shall your hearts be sore      With envy and her brood of fears,     How forget the words of light      From the mountain-way ...     Blessed are the merciful ...      Does not every threshold seek     Meadows and the flight of birds      For compassion still?     Blessed are the merciful ...      Are we pilgrims yet to speak     Out of Olivet the words      Of knowledge and good-will?