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And journeying homewards I look in his face, 



So wistful and winning and wise, 

 A language unwritten I feel I can trace, 

 A language of love and a language of grace. 



Deep down in the depths of his eyes. 



A language expressing in melodies clear 



The things that are best in mankind, 

 Where bravery leads, while it bids you good cheer, 

 And harmony kindles the front and the rear, 



And friendship is strongly defined. 



For so do we know it, the Chase, and we hold 



Men better for hunting ; the creed 

 Of love and good fellowship lives as of old. 

 And binds every class into one sacred mould, 



Long, long, may it live and succeed. 



And dreaming at night of the hound and the horn 



I think how they drive away care, 

 How the roll of the gallop when heard in the morn 

 Brings life to the heart that is wrecked and forlorn, 



Brings life while it crushes despair. 



How when life becomes bitter and love becomes cold. 



Hope comes to the blighted career ; 

 But hark ! there is music, no need to be told, 

 'Tis Foreman's clear note sounds away on the wold, 



And the hounds flying on to the cheer. 



