There isn’t any pay for you;
      You serve without reward;
The youth who tramp the fields with you
      But little could afford;
And yet your pay is richer far
      Than men who toil for gold,
For in a dozen different ways
      Your service shall be told.

You’ll read it in the faces
      Of growing girls and boys;
You’ll read it in the pleasure
      Of a dozen heartfelt joys;
And down the distant future - -
      You will surely see the Truth,
Emblazoned through the service
      Of a band of loyal youth.

For years of willing labor
      And of brothering a group;
For years of trudging highways,
      With Indian cry and whoop;
For years of campfires burning,
      Not alone for pleasures sake,
But the future generation
      Which these youth are soon to make.

They have no gold to give you, 
      But when age comes to you,
They’ll give you back the splendid things
      You taught them how to do;
They’ll give you rich contentment
      And a thrill of honest pride,
And you’ll see your nation prosper
      And you’ll be satisfied.
 

 

-- Adopted from “The Scoutmaster”
by Edgar A. Guest