THE cock's clear voice into the clearer air br Where westward far I roam, br Mounts with a thrill of hope, br Falls with a sigh of home. br br A rural sentry, he from farm and field br The coming morn descries, br And, mankind's bugler, wakes br The camp of enterprise. br br He sings the morn upon the westward hills br Strange and remote and wild; br He sings it in the land br Where once I was a child. br br He brings to me dear voices of the past, br The old land and the years: br My father calls for me, br My weeping spirit hears. br br Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird, br And sing the morning in; br For the old days are past br And new days begin.