Up the hill, down the hill
Around the hill he flew
Through the forest, through the valley
Where the birch and pine trees grew
Faster, faster, he must go.
To find himself he must!
To find out what he has to show,
Who hath raised him from the dust.
Under nook and every crany,
O’er wide prairies of sod,
This man, he could not find himself
‘ Tis only up to God