Over the hills and into the silence,
Where the sun sets, ruddy and dim,
Lingering notes of magic music—
The piper calls and we follow him.
All forgotten our sins and sorrows,
Hope and failure and toil and play—
All our hearts astir to the piping,
Calling us to the far away.
Men turn back from their ceaseless striving,
Toys are dropped from the childish hands;
One and all we follow the piper,
Piping us to the unknown lands.
Each one hears in that magic music
Promise of that his soul holds best—
Children yearn for a world of laughter,
Old men turn to a land of rest.
So, to each soul on earth forever,
Sometimes cometh an evening dim,
When, to the lands beyond the sunset,
The piper calls and we follow him.
—Norah M. Holland