AN OLD SONGWhen I was but a young lad,And that is long ago,I thought that luck loved every man,And time his only foe,And love was like a hawthorn bushThat blossomed every May,And had but to choose his flower,For that’s the young lad’s way.Oh, youth’s a thriftless squanderer,It’s easy come and spent,And heavy is the going nowWhere once the light foot went.The hawthorn bush puts on its white,The throstle whistles clear,But Spring comes once for every manJust once in all the year.ARTHUR KETCHUM
When I was but a young lad,And that is long ago,I thought that luck loved every man,And time his only foe,And love was like a hawthorn bushThat blossomed every May,And had but to choose his flower,For that’s the young lad’s way.Oh, youth’s a thriftless squanderer,It’s easy come and spent,And heavy is the going nowWhere once the light foot went.The hawthorn bush puts on its white,The throstle whistles clear,But Spring comes once for every manJust once in all the year.
ARTHUR KETCHUM