There lies the trail to Sunnydale,

Amid the lure of laughter.

Oh, how can we unhappy be

Beneath its leafy rafter!

Each perfect hour is like a flower,

Each day is like a posy.

How can you say the skies are grey?

You’re wrong, my friend, they’re rosy.

With right good will let’s climb the hill,

And leave behind all sorrow.

Oh, we’ll be gay! a bright to-day

Will make a bright to-morrow.

Oh, we’ll be strong! the way is long

That never has a turning;

The hill is high, but there’s the sky,

And how the West is burning!

And if through chance of circumstance

We have to go bare-foot, sir,

We’ll not repine—a friend of mine

Has got no feet to boot, sir.

This Happiness a habit is,

And Life is what we make it:

See! there’s the trail to Sunnydale!

Up, friend! and let us take it.