Whenever I dream of hope for a land,
   Or the promise of joys to be,
It is not the leaders in command,
Or the visions of wealth or buildings grand,
   Or its elders I ask to see
But the eyes of its youth as they pass ashine
   On the quest of its weekly boon,
When the heart grows light and the day be fine
   On a Saturday afternoon.
 
Never was world so workaday.  Never was work so drear,
   If a land's young laugh its fears away
   Once in a while, no skies may stay
Shrouded for long by fear.
For the heart of youth shall be the gauge
   And youth's voice call the tune,
Confouding ever the wisest sage
   On a Saturday afternoon.
 
Sing hey for the end, for the crowd of the week,
   When, bidding a truce to care
The young go forth new life to seek,
And brave young body and glowing cheek
   Tell a land's whole story there.
A glad tale told in the shining eyes
   And the patter of laughing shoon,
With life at the full when hope runs high
   On a Saturday afternoon.

"Den"
Herald, 3 June 1933, p6