Was it a hundred years ago,
Or was it but yesterday,
When we found the roads that grow
Blossom and song of May?
Maybe it was but yesterday,
Or a hundred years ago.
The roads from Bersabee to Dan
Are old and quickly tire,
But to the heart of child or man
Youth is a fairy fire:
Our youthful roads, they never tire
From Bersabee to Dan.
Ponce de Leon found no spring,
But legend's long, long ruth;
But the grace of God is a magic thing
Abides with chivalrous youth:
The grace of God that brings no ruth
For them who find the spring.
There is a land, there is a May
Beyond the graveyard tree;
Ten thousand years are like a day
Of a youth that we shall see:
Our young hearts pass the graveyard tree
To a land forever in May.