Classic Poem

Up the hill to Holton is a merry climb;
I have walked to Holton many is the time:
Dew upon the grasses, roses by the road,
Till you never notice if you have a load.

Down the hill from Holton is a merry way,
Coming home from Holton at the close of day:
Straight ahead the sunset, straight ahead the stars,
And the beacon burning at the open bars.

Up the hill to forty was a merry tramp:
Daisies on the hillside, lilies in the damp,
Friends to walk beside me all the busy years,
Sharing of my laughter, sharing of my tears.

Down the hill from forty, may it be the best!—
Walking to the refuge waiting in the west:
Straight ahead the sunset, straight ahead the stars,
And the beacon burning at the open bars.