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| Footsteps on distant trail,
Campward are bending; Wood fire and bubbling stew, Rich odours sending; Here is your heart’s desire, Rest when your feet shall tire, Open air and pals and food and fire; Joy never ending. Camp fires are burning low, No longer leaping; Scouts sing their evening song, Shadows come creeping; Sun sinks below the west, Goodnight and may you rest, Blankets warm and by soft sounds caressed; Scouts all are sleeping. |