Bitterlyall day the north-east galeSwept with a wild roaring moan,Hurling particles of glist’ning iceThat cut to the very bone;And a leaden and lowering skyThreatened the frozen world;The storm king was sternly approachingWith frosted banners unfurled.Ever darker and denser it grewAs the day wore on apace,And the swirl of the merciless windsTore on in a fierce, wild race.It was a day to seek the shelterOf home by the warm fireside;God help the homeless at such a timeThat wander far and wide!Suddenly in hushed tones through the townRan the word from Pigeon Bay,That the harvesters of ice were driftingHelplessly out and away—On an ice-floe helplessly drifting,Detached from the wind-rifted shore,Out over the bosom of Erie’Mid the tempest’s ruthless roar.“To the rescue! the rescue!” was shouted,And we paused with bated breath,Close beside the rage of the waters,Black and menacing with death.And many a stern face grew whiterAs we saw thro’ the deadly gloomOur friends drifting out, swiftly drifting,Helplessly to their doom.“Launch the ‘lighter’! quick, launch the ‘lighter’!And drift to the floe away,O’er the swirling, desolate waters,Out over wide Pigeon Bay.”Thus cried the dauntless Robinson,And instantly to his sideSprang Conover, Miller and Cullen,And Frank Ives in manly pride.“Pay out the long shore-line now swiftly,We’ll save them at any cost;Pay out till we reach the ice-floe,They must not, shall not be lost.”And they drifted before the tempest,And gained the edge of the floe,But the very last inch of the shore-lineCould let them no farther go.And before the rescuers could reach themThey drifted swiftly away,While the gallant crew of the “lighter”Were now helpless on the bay,With the black waves leaping over them,Icy, and cold as death,Stiffening their garments about them,And congealing the very breath.We knew that their efforts were futile,And looked in each other’s face,And scanned the wild waste of waters,As the gloom of night grew apace.“Launch the sail-boat! launch the gallantDavie!”The hero Johnston cried,And Ives and Ralph and Herman RobsonInstantly stood by his side.And they hoisted their ice-cold canvas,Spread their wings and swept away,Full three miles through the wild tempest,Engulfed in a deadly spray.They reached and saved the perishing,Landed them safe on shore—At the imminent risk of their own lives,Gave them to their friends once more.And we hauled away on the shore line,Hauled the “lighter” back through the gloomOf the storm and approach of night-time,Saving all from a dreadful doom.Some cheered, and others were weeping,And through the old town there ranThe news of the intrepid rescue—Man’s venture for fellowman.The Humane Society awardedA medal for each manly breast,And we pinned their badges of honorOn proudly, for such a testOf stern endurance and heroismIs seldom, aye, seldom seen;And we cheered for them as ne’er before,For our country and our Queen.
Bitterlyall day the north-east galeSwept with a wild roaring moan,Hurling particles of glist’ning iceThat cut to the very bone;And a leaden and lowering skyThreatened the frozen world;The storm king was sternly approachingWith frosted banners unfurled.Ever darker and denser it grewAs the day wore on apace,And the swirl of the merciless windsTore on in a fierce, wild race.It was a day to seek the shelterOf home by the warm fireside;God help the homeless at such a timeThat wander far and wide!Suddenly in hushed tones through the townRan the word from Pigeon Bay,That the harvesters of ice were driftingHelplessly out and away—On an ice-floe helplessly drifting,Detached from the wind-rifted shore,Out over the bosom of Erie’Mid the tempest’s ruthless roar.“To the rescue! the rescue!” was shouted,And we paused with bated breath,Close beside the rage of the waters,Black and menacing with death.And many a stern face grew whiterAs we saw thro’ the deadly gloomOur friends drifting out, swiftly drifting,Helplessly to their doom.“Launch the ‘lighter’! quick, launch the ‘lighter’!And drift to the floe away,O’er the swirling, desolate waters,Out over wide Pigeon Bay.”Thus cried the dauntless Robinson,And instantly to his sideSprang Conover, Miller and Cullen,And Frank Ives in manly pride.“Pay out the long shore-line now swiftly,We’ll save them at any cost;Pay out till we reach the ice-floe,They must not, shall not be lost.”And they drifted before the tempest,And gained the edge of the floe,But the very last inch of the shore-lineCould let them no farther go.And before the rescuers could reach themThey drifted swiftly away,While the gallant crew of the “lighter”Were now helpless on the bay,With the black waves leaping over them,Icy, and cold as death,Stiffening their garments about them,And congealing the very breath.We knew that their efforts were futile,And looked in each other’s face,And scanned the wild waste of waters,As the gloom of night grew apace.“Launch the sail-boat! launch the gallantDavie!”The hero Johnston cried,And Ives and Ralph and Herman RobsonInstantly stood by his side.And they hoisted their ice-cold canvas,Spread their wings and swept away,Full three miles through the wild tempest,Engulfed in a deadly spray.They reached and saved the perishing,Landed them safe on shore—At the imminent risk of their own lives,Gave them to their friends once more.And we hauled away on the shore line,Hauled the “lighter” back through the gloomOf the storm and approach of night-time,Saving all from a dreadful doom.Some cheered, and others were weeping,And through the old town there ranThe news of the intrepid rescue—Man’s venture for fellowman.The Humane Society awardedA medal for each manly breast,And we pinned their badges of honorOn proudly, for such a testOf stern endurance and heroismIs seldom, aye, seldom seen;And we cheered for them as ne’er before,For our country and our Queen.
Bitterlyall day the north-east galeSwept with a wild roaring moan,Hurling particles of glist’ning iceThat cut to the very bone;And a leaden and lowering skyThreatened the frozen world;The storm king was sternly approachingWith frosted banners unfurled.
Ever darker and denser it grewAs the day wore on apace,And the swirl of the merciless windsTore on in a fierce, wild race.It was a day to seek the shelterOf home by the warm fireside;God help the homeless at such a timeThat wander far and wide!
Suddenly in hushed tones through the townRan the word from Pigeon Bay,That the harvesters of ice were driftingHelplessly out and away—On an ice-floe helplessly drifting,Detached from the wind-rifted shore,Out over the bosom of Erie’Mid the tempest’s ruthless roar.
“To the rescue! the rescue!” was shouted,And we paused with bated breath,Close beside the rage of the waters,Black and menacing with death.And many a stern face grew whiterAs we saw thro’ the deadly gloomOur friends drifting out, swiftly drifting,Helplessly to their doom.
“Launch the ‘lighter’! quick, launch the ‘lighter’!And drift to the floe away,O’er the swirling, desolate waters,Out over wide Pigeon Bay.”Thus cried the dauntless Robinson,And instantly to his sideSprang Conover, Miller and Cullen,And Frank Ives in manly pride.
“Pay out the long shore-line now swiftly,We’ll save them at any cost;Pay out till we reach the ice-floe,They must not, shall not be lost.”And they drifted before the tempest,And gained the edge of the floe,But the very last inch of the shore-lineCould let them no farther go.
And before the rescuers could reach themThey drifted swiftly away,While the gallant crew of the “lighter”Were now helpless on the bay,With the black waves leaping over them,Icy, and cold as death,Stiffening their garments about them,And congealing the very breath.
We knew that their efforts were futile,And looked in each other’s face,And scanned the wild waste of waters,As the gloom of night grew apace.“Launch the sail-boat! launch the gallantDavie!”The hero Johnston cried,And Ives and Ralph and Herman RobsonInstantly stood by his side.
And they hoisted their ice-cold canvas,Spread their wings and swept away,Full three miles through the wild tempest,Engulfed in a deadly spray.They reached and saved the perishing,Landed them safe on shore—At the imminent risk of their own lives,Gave them to their friends once more.
And we hauled away on the shore line,Hauled the “lighter” back through the gloomOf the storm and approach of night-time,Saving all from a dreadful doom.Some cheered, and others were weeping,And through the old town there ranThe news of the intrepid rescue—Man’s venture for fellowman.
The Humane Society awardedA medal for each manly breast,And we pinned their badges of honorOn proudly, for such a testOf stern endurance and heroismIs seldom, aye, seldom seen;And we cheered for them as ne’er before,For our country and our Queen.
Father, I’ve trespassed in Thy sight,But I’m weak and poor and sad;My days are long and dreary,And my soul is never glad.My nights are dark and lonely,And my dreams are full of pain;I’ve wandered, oh, so long,And toiled so long in vain.I’d feel Thy forgiving handRest kind on my stricken headEre the last sad sigh is breathed,And I sleep with the quiet deadIn a dreamless, perfect rest;No bitter, cankering careTo trouble my deep repose,Or fill me with dark despair.Forgive, for my burden is heavy,And grievous, and hard to bear,And I have no home to-night;And around me everywhereThe chill and blight are falling,And the way is rough and cold;The summer of life is faded,And I am growing old.Forgive, for my tears are falling;I kneel at Thy sacred feet;Lead from “the deep, dark valley,”Where but ruin reigns complete.Forgive, for all around meIs the winter’s fret and moan,And I long for summers fairer,Near Thy great white throne.
Father, I’ve trespassed in Thy sight,But I’m weak and poor and sad;My days are long and dreary,And my soul is never glad.My nights are dark and lonely,And my dreams are full of pain;I’ve wandered, oh, so long,And toiled so long in vain.I’d feel Thy forgiving handRest kind on my stricken headEre the last sad sigh is breathed,And I sleep with the quiet deadIn a dreamless, perfect rest;No bitter, cankering careTo trouble my deep repose,Or fill me with dark despair.Forgive, for my burden is heavy,And grievous, and hard to bear,And I have no home to-night;And around me everywhereThe chill and blight are falling,And the way is rough and cold;The summer of life is faded,And I am growing old.Forgive, for my tears are falling;I kneel at Thy sacred feet;Lead from “the deep, dark valley,”Where but ruin reigns complete.Forgive, for all around meIs the winter’s fret and moan,And I long for summers fairer,Near Thy great white throne.
Father, I’ve trespassed in Thy sight,But I’m weak and poor and sad;My days are long and dreary,And my soul is never glad.My nights are dark and lonely,And my dreams are full of pain;I’ve wandered, oh, so long,And toiled so long in vain.
I’d feel Thy forgiving handRest kind on my stricken headEre the last sad sigh is breathed,And I sleep with the quiet deadIn a dreamless, perfect rest;No bitter, cankering careTo trouble my deep repose,Or fill me with dark despair.
Forgive, for my burden is heavy,And grievous, and hard to bear,And I have no home to-night;And around me everywhereThe chill and blight are falling,And the way is rough and cold;The summer of life is faded,And I am growing old.
Forgive, for my tears are falling;I kneel at Thy sacred feet;Lead from “the deep, dark valley,”Where but ruin reigns complete.Forgive, for all around meIs the winter’s fret and moan,And I long for summers fairer,Near Thy great white throne.
I stoodto look a last farewellUpon our dear Dominion shore,Ere I should turn afar to roam,Perhaps to view it nevermore.I looked upon the waters bright;The scene recalled the times of yore,But who can tell how I have lovedThy waves and sands, oh, peaceful shore?The crescent moon shone o’er the seaAnd lit the dark and vaulted sky,And touched the waves that rose and fellIn gentle murmurs like a sigh.Ah! days, sweet days, ye’ve flown awayWith Aleene by the shining sea;It was a time too fair to last—Only a mem’ry now to me.For time’s relentless years went byOn voiceless, viewless, sable wing:Ah! lost Aleene! that drooped and diedIn the sweet fragrance of the spring.She’s resting now, to wake no moreWhen moon and sea are gleaming bright;She sleeps, and I am weary now,Away, these tears! I go; good night!
I stoodto look a last farewellUpon our dear Dominion shore,Ere I should turn afar to roam,Perhaps to view it nevermore.I looked upon the waters bright;The scene recalled the times of yore,But who can tell how I have lovedThy waves and sands, oh, peaceful shore?The crescent moon shone o’er the seaAnd lit the dark and vaulted sky,And touched the waves that rose and fellIn gentle murmurs like a sigh.Ah! days, sweet days, ye’ve flown awayWith Aleene by the shining sea;It was a time too fair to last—Only a mem’ry now to me.For time’s relentless years went byOn voiceless, viewless, sable wing:Ah! lost Aleene! that drooped and diedIn the sweet fragrance of the spring.She’s resting now, to wake no moreWhen moon and sea are gleaming bright;She sleeps, and I am weary now,Away, these tears! I go; good night!
I stoodto look a last farewellUpon our dear Dominion shore,Ere I should turn afar to roam,Perhaps to view it nevermore.
I looked upon the waters bright;The scene recalled the times of yore,But who can tell how I have lovedThy waves and sands, oh, peaceful shore?
The crescent moon shone o’er the seaAnd lit the dark and vaulted sky,And touched the waves that rose and fellIn gentle murmurs like a sigh.
Ah! days, sweet days, ye’ve flown awayWith Aleene by the shining sea;It was a time too fair to last—Only a mem’ry now to me.
For time’s relentless years went byOn voiceless, viewless, sable wing:Ah! lost Aleene! that drooped and diedIn the sweet fragrance of the spring.
She’s resting now, to wake no moreWhen moon and sea are gleaming bright;She sleeps, and I am weary now,Away, these tears! I go; good night!
Farewell, thou beautiful summer,Gliding swift from our land away;Thy viewless winds have a murmurAnd cadence of sadness to-day.Adieu to thy laughing sunlight,And thy skies so supremely blue;The sigh of the breeze at twilight,And peaceful glades starlit in dew.Farewell, thy streams softly purlingLike silver threads over the lea;Great rivers rolling onward,Right grandly toward the sea.Shadows steal out from the woodlands,Lengthening day by day;The sun sinks low in southern skiesAs the summer-time drifts away.The fairest and tiniest flowersHave closed their delicate leaves,And the harvesters have garneredThe last of their golden sheaves.Afar in the lonely wildwood,By hillside, bright bower and plain,The reddened brown leaves are siftingFast earthward in red, red rain.And burns the vast flaming sunsetIn crimson and tawny-barred gold;Athwart the advancing night-timeThe star-gemmed skies unfold.Sadly, aye, sad and regretful,I list to the wild, glad strainOf the song-birds flying southward,Filling my heart with pain.And the winds are melancholyThat tread o’er the withering lea;And mysterious tones in unisonCome up from the restless sea;And my yearning thoughts are tender,And fair hopes that ended in painRise with the summer’s departure,Like pale ghosts, to haunt us again.And I sigh for summers olden,For a time that cometh no more.The years of the past were golden:On memory’s dreamland shoreI buried them in deep silence;And I shed there some burning tears,And ever the days creep slowlyInto wearily fading years.There’s a clime of fadeless sunshineWhere the chill and blight ne’er come,And perpetual bloom of summerIs surrounding a great white throne.I wonder, approaching the sunset,When life and its cares are all done,If we, though sinful and outcast,May enter that beautiful home.
Farewell, thou beautiful summer,Gliding swift from our land away;Thy viewless winds have a murmurAnd cadence of sadness to-day.Adieu to thy laughing sunlight,And thy skies so supremely blue;The sigh of the breeze at twilight,And peaceful glades starlit in dew.Farewell, thy streams softly purlingLike silver threads over the lea;Great rivers rolling onward,Right grandly toward the sea.Shadows steal out from the woodlands,Lengthening day by day;The sun sinks low in southern skiesAs the summer-time drifts away.The fairest and tiniest flowersHave closed their delicate leaves,And the harvesters have garneredThe last of their golden sheaves.Afar in the lonely wildwood,By hillside, bright bower and plain,The reddened brown leaves are siftingFast earthward in red, red rain.And burns the vast flaming sunsetIn crimson and tawny-barred gold;Athwart the advancing night-timeThe star-gemmed skies unfold.Sadly, aye, sad and regretful,I list to the wild, glad strainOf the song-birds flying southward,Filling my heart with pain.And the winds are melancholyThat tread o’er the withering lea;And mysterious tones in unisonCome up from the restless sea;And my yearning thoughts are tender,And fair hopes that ended in painRise with the summer’s departure,Like pale ghosts, to haunt us again.And I sigh for summers olden,For a time that cometh no more.The years of the past were golden:On memory’s dreamland shoreI buried them in deep silence;And I shed there some burning tears,And ever the days creep slowlyInto wearily fading years.There’s a clime of fadeless sunshineWhere the chill and blight ne’er come,And perpetual bloom of summerIs surrounding a great white throne.I wonder, approaching the sunset,When life and its cares are all done,If we, though sinful and outcast,May enter that beautiful home.
Farewell, thou beautiful summer,Gliding swift from our land away;Thy viewless winds have a murmurAnd cadence of sadness to-day.Adieu to thy laughing sunlight,And thy skies so supremely blue;The sigh of the breeze at twilight,And peaceful glades starlit in dew.
Farewell, thy streams softly purlingLike silver threads over the lea;Great rivers rolling onward,Right grandly toward the sea.Shadows steal out from the woodlands,Lengthening day by day;The sun sinks low in southern skiesAs the summer-time drifts away.
The fairest and tiniest flowersHave closed their delicate leaves,And the harvesters have garneredThe last of their golden sheaves.Afar in the lonely wildwood,By hillside, bright bower and plain,The reddened brown leaves are siftingFast earthward in red, red rain.
And burns the vast flaming sunsetIn crimson and tawny-barred gold;Athwart the advancing night-timeThe star-gemmed skies unfold.Sadly, aye, sad and regretful,I list to the wild, glad strainOf the song-birds flying southward,Filling my heart with pain.
And the winds are melancholyThat tread o’er the withering lea;And mysterious tones in unisonCome up from the restless sea;And my yearning thoughts are tender,And fair hopes that ended in painRise with the summer’s departure,Like pale ghosts, to haunt us again.
And I sigh for summers olden,For a time that cometh no more.The years of the past were golden:On memory’s dreamland shoreI buried them in deep silence;And I shed there some burning tears,And ever the days creep slowlyInto wearily fading years.
There’s a clime of fadeless sunshineWhere the chill and blight ne’er come,And perpetual bloom of summerIs surrounding a great white throne.I wonder, approaching the sunset,When life and its cares are all done,If we, though sinful and outcast,May enter that beautiful home.
I’mthinking of thee to-day, Jennie,While the spring is young and fair,And nature’s glad songs are ringingAlong the perfumed air;And the winds are lightly playingO’er earth and the far blue sea,And floods of warm golden sunlightCrown forest, and vale, and lea.My heart is young to-day, Jennie,Though years and years have flown,And delusive dreams have perished,And many dear friends are gone.Yet to-day I revel in fancyAt memory’s fadeless shrine,And the thoughts that stir my bosomAre tender and half divine.Over the hills to-day, Jennie,The blooming, sun-crowned hills,My footsteps lightly go, Jennie,Where the pure sparkling rillsMerge in the stream’s soft murmurThe wind in its voiceful gleeJoins in the mystical musicOf nature’s own harmony.Oh, how I sang to-day, Jennie,The songs we loved so well;Songs of the olden time, Jennie,Ere we had said “farewell.”I’m looking beyond the years, Jennie,To a far-off golden shore,Where life, like the fairest spring-time,Will bloom on for evermore.
I’mthinking of thee to-day, Jennie,While the spring is young and fair,And nature’s glad songs are ringingAlong the perfumed air;And the winds are lightly playingO’er earth and the far blue sea,And floods of warm golden sunlightCrown forest, and vale, and lea.My heart is young to-day, Jennie,Though years and years have flown,And delusive dreams have perished,And many dear friends are gone.Yet to-day I revel in fancyAt memory’s fadeless shrine,And the thoughts that stir my bosomAre tender and half divine.Over the hills to-day, Jennie,The blooming, sun-crowned hills,My footsteps lightly go, Jennie,Where the pure sparkling rillsMerge in the stream’s soft murmurThe wind in its voiceful gleeJoins in the mystical musicOf nature’s own harmony.Oh, how I sang to-day, Jennie,The songs we loved so well;Songs of the olden time, Jennie,Ere we had said “farewell.”I’m looking beyond the years, Jennie,To a far-off golden shore,Where life, like the fairest spring-time,Will bloom on for evermore.
I’mthinking of thee to-day, Jennie,While the spring is young and fair,And nature’s glad songs are ringingAlong the perfumed air;And the winds are lightly playingO’er earth and the far blue sea,And floods of warm golden sunlightCrown forest, and vale, and lea.
My heart is young to-day, Jennie,Though years and years have flown,And delusive dreams have perished,And many dear friends are gone.Yet to-day I revel in fancyAt memory’s fadeless shrine,And the thoughts that stir my bosomAre tender and half divine.
Over the hills to-day, Jennie,The blooming, sun-crowned hills,My footsteps lightly go, Jennie,Where the pure sparkling rillsMerge in the stream’s soft murmurThe wind in its voiceful gleeJoins in the mystical musicOf nature’s own harmony.
Oh, how I sang to-day, Jennie,The songs we loved so well;Songs of the olden time, Jennie,Ere we had said “farewell.”I’m looking beyond the years, Jennie,To a far-off golden shore,Where life, like the fairest spring-time,Will bloom on for evermore.
I stoodin a wide-arched portalThat led to the house of God,And gazed on the assembling peopleAs up the aisles they trod;And as with lofty bearing,In ranks of proud array,With garments all resplendent,The worshippers bowed to pray.And the lights streamed out the windows,Streamed out like shining spears—Sparkled gaily and scintillatedFrom the gleaming chandeliers—Out on the desolate tents of night,All tempest-tossed and wild;Out on the glistening frost and snow,Where drift on drift was piled.Oh, proud worshippers there assembled,Sumptuously clad and warm,Do you think of the homeless wanderersOut in the pitiless storm?Do you extend them a helping hand?Have you sheltered, clothed and fed,And cheered by sympathy’s magicThe soul that was almost dead?Do you think of the hopeless poor?Their dwellings are chill and bare;They are comfortless and all forlorn,With little to eat or wear.Do you visit them in their sorrow?Do you help them from your store?For Providence has ever blest youWith enough, to spare, and more.Do you help the struggling widowIn the fight for daily bread?Do you succour the orphan children,Scantily clothed and fed?Do you visit the sick and needy,And soothe their heartache and pain?For encouraging words and kindnessMay lift them up strong again.The tall spire pointeth to heaven;The worshippers pass within,Heeding, perhaps, but slightlyThe want, the despair, and sinOf the great world’s unfortunate poor,Helpless and hopeless and worn;Tempted, fallen, and tired of life,Its bitter neglect and scorn.I turned away from the portalThinking what might have beenHad you kept the example set youBy the lowly Nazarene.The eyes of the world are upon you,And faith in your precepts is flown,And because of example and teachingMany have sceptical grown.
I stoodin a wide-arched portalThat led to the house of God,And gazed on the assembling peopleAs up the aisles they trod;And as with lofty bearing,In ranks of proud array,With garments all resplendent,The worshippers bowed to pray.And the lights streamed out the windows,Streamed out like shining spears—Sparkled gaily and scintillatedFrom the gleaming chandeliers—Out on the desolate tents of night,All tempest-tossed and wild;Out on the glistening frost and snow,Where drift on drift was piled.Oh, proud worshippers there assembled,Sumptuously clad and warm,Do you think of the homeless wanderersOut in the pitiless storm?Do you extend them a helping hand?Have you sheltered, clothed and fed,And cheered by sympathy’s magicThe soul that was almost dead?Do you think of the hopeless poor?Their dwellings are chill and bare;They are comfortless and all forlorn,With little to eat or wear.Do you visit them in their sorrow?Do you help them from your store?For Providence has ever blest youWith enough, to spare, and more.Do you help the struggling widowIn the fight for daily bread?Do you succour the orphan children,Scantily clothed and fed?Do you visit the sick and needy,And soothe their heartache and pain?For encouraging words and kindnessMay lift them up strong again.The tall spire pointeth to heaven;The worshippers pass within,Heeding, perhaps, but slightlyThe want, the despair, and sinOf the great world’s unfortunate poor,Helpless and hopeless and worn;Tempted, fallen, and tired of life,Its bitter neglect and scorn.I turned away from the portalThinking what might have beenHad you kept the example set youBy the lowly Nazarene.The eyes of the world are upon you,And faith in your precepts is flown,And because of example and teachingMany have sceptical grown.
I stoodin a wide-arched portalThat led to the house of God,And gazed on the assembling peopleAs up the aisles they trod;And as with lofty bearing,In ranks of proud array,With garments all resplendent,The worshippers bowed to pray.
And the lights streamed out the windows,Streamed out like shining spears—Sparkled gaily and scintillatedFrom the gleaming chandeliers—Out on the desolate tents of night,All tempest-tossed and wild;Out on the glistening frost and snow,Where drift on drift was piled.
Oh, proud worshippers there assembled,Sumptuously clad and warm,Do you think of the homeless wanderersOut in the pitiless storm?Do you extend them a helping hand?Have you sheltered, clothed and fed,And cheered by sympathy’s magicThe soul that was almost dead?
Do you think of the hopeless poor?Their dwellings are chill and bare;They are comfortless and all forlorn,With little to eat or wear.Do you visit them in their sorrow?Do you help them from your store?For Providence has ever blest youWith enough, to spare, and more.
Do you help the struggling widowIn the fight for daily bread?Do you succour the orphan children,Scantily clothed and fed?Do you visit the sick and needy,And soothe their heartache and pain?For encouraging words and kindnessMay lift them up strong again.
The tall spire pointeth to heaven;The worshippers pass within,Heeding, perhaps, but slightlyThe want, the despair, and sinOf the great world’s unfortunate poor,Helpless and hopeless and worn;Tempted, fallen, and tired of life,Its bitter neglect and scorn.
I turned away from the portalThinking what might have beenHad you kept the example set youBy the lowly Nazarene.The eyes of the world are upon you,And faith in your precepts is flown,And because of example and teachingMany have sceptical grown.
I stoodtearless and lone at midnightNear a grave by destiny made;Deep in a vale by a lonely stream,Where the branches drooped and swayedIn the soft night wind that breathed a sighTo the flowers in the sheenOf the pale moon, and the world at restSeemed fair as an angel’s dream.But sorrow enwrapt me at midnightBeside my beautiful dead,And I buried it deep for evermore,And hope with its white wings fled.And I wept alone at the midnightA passion of burning tears—I knew, the way would be rough and longThrough all the untried years.I stole away from that sacred place,Where never a form was laid,But the fairest dream my soul e’er knewRests in that sylvan shade.In many lands and o’er distant seasMy restless feet have strayed;I’ve faced the storm and battle’s rageWith courage undismayed.In every clime and on every seaI vainly sought to forget,But memory still remained the same—A changeless, fadeless regret.I have come again at the midnight,After changeful, weary years,And the scenes of the dear long agoFill my eyes with tender tears.And I steal sometimes at the midnightTo that quiet, sacred place,When the wind’s breath kindly caresses,And the moon unveils her face.I dream of the future at midnight,A fadeless, celestial shore,Where the lost shall be reunited,And weariness come no more.
I stoodtearless and lone at midnightNear a grave by destiny made;Deep in a vale by a lonely stream,Where the branches drooped and swayedIn the soft night wind that breathed a sighTo the flowers in the sheenOf the pale moon, and the world at restSeemed fair as an angel’s dream.But sorrow enwrapt me at midnightBeside my beautiful dead,And I buried it deep for evermore,And hope with its white wings fled.And I wept alone at the midnightA passion of burning tears—I knew, the way would be rough and longThrough all the untried years.I stole away from that sacred place,Where never a form was laid,But the fairest dream my soul e’er knewRests in that sylvan shade.In many lands and o’er distant seasMy restless feet have strayed;I’ve faced the storm and battle’s rageWith courage undismayed.In every clime and on every seaI vainly sought to forget,But memory still remained the same—A changeless, fadeless regret.I have come again at the midnight,After changeful, weary years,And the scenes of the dear long agoFill my eyes with tender tears.And I steal sometimes at the midnightTo that quiet, sacred place,When the wind’s breath kindly caresses,And the moon unveils her face.I dream of the future at midnight,A fadeless, celestial shore,Where the lost shall be reunited,And weariness come no more.
I stoodtearless and lone at midnightNear a grave by destiny made;Deep in a vale by a lonely stream,Where the branches drooped and swayedIn the soft night wind that breathed a sighTo the flowers in the sheenOf the pale moon, and the world at restSeemed fair as an angel’s dream.
But sorrow enwrapt me at midnightBeside my beautiful dead,And I buried it deep for evermore,And hope with its white wings fled.And I wept alone at the midnightA passion of burning tears—I knew, the way would be rough and longThrough all the untried years.
I stole away from that sacred place,Where never a form was laid,But the fairest dream my soul e’er knewRests in that sylvan shade.In many lands and o’er distant seasMy restless feet have strayed;I’ve faced the storm and battle’s rageWith courage undismayed.
In every clime and on every seaI vainly sought to forget,But memory still remained the same—A changeless, fadeless regret.I have come again at the midnight,After changeful, weary years,And the scenes of the dear long agoFill my eyes with tender tears.
And I steal sometimes at the midnightTo that quiet, sacred place,When the wind’s breath kindly caresses,And the moon unveils her face.I dream of the future at midnight,A fadeless, celestial shore,Where the lost shall be reunited,And weariness come no more.
Sunnywere the days of childhood,And the old home was aglowWith love of the happy faces—A dear dream of long ago.And the household then was perfect,With no vacant, appealing chair,Like a long sweet day of summer,Breathing joyance everywhere.Like songs of birds in the spring-time,Or the fragrant flowers of May,Or the blooming of the summer,Or the seasons that glide away;Like dreams our life is, and fleeting,Aye, a dreaming, and nothing more;True life is beyond the gloaming,Full and free on God’s fadeless shore.
Sunnywere the days of childhood,And the old home was aglowWith love of the happy faces—A dear dream of long ago.And the household then was perfect,With no vacant, appealing chair,Like a long sweet day of summer,Breathing joyance everywhere.Like songs of birds in the spring-time,Or the fragrant flowers of May,Or the blooming of the summer,Or the seasons that glide away;Like dreams our life is, and fleeting,Aye, a dreaming, and nothing more;True life is beyond the gloaming,Full and free on God’s fadeless shore.
Sunnywere the days of childhood,And the old home was aglowWith love of the happy faces—A dear dream of long ago.And the household then was perfect,With no vacant, appealing chair,Like a long sweet day of summer,Breathing joyance everywhere.
Like songs of birds in the spring-time,Or the fragrant flowers of May,Or the blooming of the summer,Or the seasons that glide away;Like dreams our life is, and fleeting,Aye, a dreaming, and nothing more;True life is beyond the gloaming,Full and free on God’s fadeless shore.
Ah! why is it ever thus?These mystical thoughts and tearsAre ever present with meAs a dream for years and years.Is’t the voice of weary windsIn plaint o’er the blighted lea,Rustling the autumn leavesAdown from each faded tree?Or the flight of little birds,As they pass from us away,With their sweet notes of gladness,That we miss from day to day?The crickets’ ceaseless chantingIn the serried grass and flowers,Wakening olden memoriesOf the long, long silent hours?The sombre hues that gatherO’er purpling hill and dell,The flowing stream and fountainSeem e’er haunted like a spell.And many hearts are haunted,Saddened and thoughtful grown;Dead leaves are around them lying,And the warmth of life is flown.Is it the moaning billowsThat surge o’er the lonely seaWhose mournful tones are everPleading sobbingly to meOf a brother that I loved?Lost where the wild tempest sweeps,Unfathomable and loneIs the bier where he now sleeps.And when we walk at evenAlong the dim-lit shore,We hear weird voices whisper,“Nevermore! no, nevermore!”There in the holy silence,Bowed to a tender power,Passionate dreams enfold usIn that pale, mystical hour.We gaze far out and upwardToward God’s great vaulted dome,Where stars in their bright splendorAre gleaming one by one.They seem so pure and holyIn their calm, silvery light;We feel subdued and lowly’Neath their pathless flight.I think it is thus with us:The great Creator’s powerIs ever present with usIn leaf, and tree, and flower.The sighing of the lone winds,And the moaning of the sea,All join in one grand anthemOf the great eternity.
Ah! why is it ever thus?These mystical thoughts and tearsAre ever present with meAs a dream for years and years.Is’t the voice of weary windsIn plaint o’er the blighted lea,Rustling the autumn leavesAdown from each faded tree?Or the flight of little birds,As they pass from us away,With their sweet notes of gladness,That we miss from day to day?The crickets’ ceaseless chantingIn the serried grass and flowers,Wakening olden memoriesOf the long, long silent hours?The sombre hues that gatherO’er purpling hill and dell,The flowing stream and fountainSeem e’er haunted like a spell.And many hearts are haunted,Saddened and thoughtful grown;Dead leaves are around them lying,And the warmth of life is flown.Is it the moaning billowsThat surge o’er the lonely seaWhose mournful tones are everPleading sobbingly to meOf a brother that I loved?Lost where the wild tempest sweeps,Unfathomable and loneIs the bier where he now sleeps.And when we walk at evenAlong the dim-lit shore,We hear weird voices whisper,“Nevermore! no, nevermore!”There in the holy silence,Bowed to a tender power,Passionate dreams enfold usIn that pale, mystical hour.We gaze far out and upwardToward God’s great vaulted dome,Where stars in their bright splendorAre gleaming one by one.They seem so pure and holyIn their calm, silvery light;We feel subdued and lowly’Neath their pathless flight.I think it is thus with us:The great Creator’s powerIs ever present with usIn leaf, and tree, and flower.The sighing of the lone winds,And the moaning of the sea,All join in one grand anthemOf the great eternity.
Ah! why is it ever thus?These mystical thoughts and tearsAre ever present with meAs a dream for years and years.Is’t the voice of weary windsIn plaint o’er the blighted lea,Rustling the autumn leavesAdown from each faded tree?
Or the flight of little birds,As they pass from us away,With their sweet notes of gladness,That we miss from day to day?The crickets’ ceaseless chantingIn the serried grass and flowers,Wakening olden memoriesOf the long, long silent hours?
The sombre hues that gatherO’er purpling hill and dell,The flowing stream and fountainSeem e’er haunted like a spell.And many hearts are haunted,Saddened and thoughtful grown;Dead leaves are around them lying,And the warmth of life is flown.
Is it the moaning billowsThat surge o’er the lonely seaWhose mournful tones are everPleading sobbingly to meOf a brother that I loved?Lost where the wild tempest sweeps,Unfathomable and loneIs the bier where he now sleeps.
And when we walk at evenAlong the dim-lit shore,We hear weird voices whisper,“Nevermore! no, nevermore!”There in the holy silence,Bowed to a tender power,Passionate dreams enfold usIn that pale, mystical hour.
We gaze far out and upwardToward God’s great vaulted dome,Where stars in their bright splendorAre gleaming one by one.They seem so pure and holyIn their calm, silvery light;We feel subdued and lowly’Neath their pathless flight.
I think it is thus with us:The great Creator’s powerIs ever present with usIn leaf, and tree, and flower.The sighing of the lone winds,And the moaning of the sea,All join in one grand anthemOf the great eternity.
Thespring has come! Once more I hearThe song-birds carol free,The gentle winds play o’er my browIn whisp’ring melody.A glad refrain from hill and dell,From mountain, stream, and sea,Pours joyously o’er all the land,From winter’s shackles free.Alternate suns and April rains,Distilling dews at even,Will deck in verdure all the land;And just as fair as EdenWill bud and bloom the forest glades.Vales and leafless bowersWill spring into new life again,Enwreathed with fairest flowers.Sing on, sing on, glad voice of Spring!Wake, wake, the song again!A jubilee of joy shout forthFrom mountain, stream, and plain.O human hearts, by care oppressed,Rise up! rise up! and o’erThis joyous time, so pure and young,Renew thy strength once more.
Thespring has come! Once more I hearThe song-birds carol free,The gentle winds play o’er my browIn whisp’ring melody.A glad refrain from hill and dell,From mountain, stream, and sea,Pours joyously o’er all the land,From winter’s shackles free.Alternate suns and April rains,Distilling dews at even,Will deck in verdure all the land;And just as fair as EdenWill bud and bloom the forest glades.Vales and leafless bowersWill spring into new life again,Enwreathed with fairest flowers.Sing on, sing on, glad voice of Spring!Wake, wake, the song again!A jubilee of joy shout forthFrom mountain, stream, and plain.O human hearts, by care oppressed,Rise up! rise up! and o’erThis joyous time, so pure and young,Renew thy strength once more.
Thespring has come! Once more I hearThe song-birds carol free,The gentle winds play o’er my browIn whisp’ring melody.A glad refrain from hill and dell,From mountain, stream, and sea,Pours joyously o’er all the land,From winter’s shackles free.
Alternate suns and April rains,Distilling dews at even,Will deck in verdure all the land;And just as fair as EdenWill bud and bloom the forest glades.Vales and leafless bowersWill spring into new life again,Enwreathed with fairest flowers.
Sing on, sing on, glad voice of Spring!Wake, wake, the song again!A jubilee of joy shout forthFrom mountain, stream, and plain.O human hearts, by care oppressed,Rise up! rise up! and o’erThis joyous time, so pure and young,Renew thy strength once more.
A tender, delicate kiss given me long ago,A wistful look from the deep blue eyes,That set my sensitive yearning heart aglowWith dreams of an earthly paradise.But we drifted far apart, my love and I,For the world is cold and hearts must break;And in vain were tears and the weary sigh—They said it was best for her dear sake.
A tender, delicate kiss given me long ago,A wistful look from the deep blue eyes,That set my sensitive yearning heart aglowWith dreams of an earthly paradise.But we drifted far apart, my love and I,For the world is cold and hearts must break;And in vain were tears and the weary sigh—They said it was best for her dear sake.
A tender, delicate kiss given me long ago,A wistful look from the deep blue eyes,That set my sensitive yearning heart aglowWith dreams of an earthly paradise.But we drifted far apart, my love and I,For the world is cold and hearts must break;And in vain were tears and the weary sigh—They said it was best for her dear sake.
Onemore tender, fragile flowerFaded from our sight to-day,Just as spring-time’s buds and blossomsUshered in the bloom of May.She had lingered, fading slowly,Till the op’ning of the day;’Mid its radiant, dewy fragrance,Her sweet spirit soared away.We’ve sung her last sad requiem,Closed the eyes that lost their sight—Eyes that beamed with love and beauty,Eyes that shone with holy light.Ah, how many hearts will miss thee,Miss thy smile and gentle tone;Life’s but emptiness and shadowWhen the loved and lost are gone.In the graveyard on the uplandThat o’erlooks an inland sea,Where the flowers bloom in beauty,Where the birds sing wild and free:In the grave we sadly laid herAt the quiet eventide,And the thoughts that filled our bosomsBreathed of prayer and faith sublime.She’s not dead, she only sleepethFrom the cares of earthly strife;She’ll arise more fair and perfectTo a grander, nobler life.If we follow in her footsteps,We, too, may the goal attain:Just beyond the Stygian riverBlooms a life that’s not in vain.
Onemore tender, fragile flowerFaded from our sight to-day,Just as spring-time’s buds and blossomsUshered in the bloom of May.She had lingered, fading slowly,Till the op’ning of the day;’Mid its radiant, dewy fragrance,Her sweet spirit soared away.We’ve sung her last sad requiem,Closed the eyes that lost their sight—Eyes that beamed with love and beauty,Eyes that shone with holy light.Ah, how many hearts will miss thee,Miss thy smile and gentle tone;Life’s but emptiness and shadowWhen the loved and lost are gone.In the graveyard on the uplandThat o’erlooks an inland sea,Where the flowers bloom in beauty,Where the birds sing wild and free:In the grave we sadly laid herAt the quiet eventide,And the thoughts that filled our bosomsBreathed of prayer and faith sublime.She’s not dead, she only sleepethFrom the cares of earthly strife;She’ll arise more fair and perfectTo a grander, nobler life.If we follow in her footsteps,We, too, may the goal attain:Just beyond the Stygian riverBlooms a life that’s not in vain.
Onemore tender, fragile flowerFaded from our sight to-day,Just as spring-time’s buds and blossomsUshered in the bloom of May.She had lingered, fading slowly,Till the op’ning of the day;’Mid its radiant, dewy fragrance,Her sweet spirit soared away.
We’ve sung her last sad requiem,Closed the eyes that lost their sight—Eyes that beamed with love and beauty,Eyes that shone with holy light.Ah, how many hearts will miss thee,Miss thy smile and gentle tone;Life’s but emptiness and shadowWhen the loved and lost are gone.
In the graveyard on the uplandThat o’erlooks an inland sea,Where the flowers bloom in beauty,Where the birds sing wild and free:In the grave we sadly laid herAt the quiet eventide,And the thoughts that filled our bosomsBreathed of prayer and faith sublime.
She’s not dead, she only sleepethFrom the cares of earthly strife;She’ll arise more fair and perfectTo a grander, nobler life.If we follow in her footsteps,We, too, may the goal attain:Just beyond the Stygian riverBlooms a life that’s not in vain.
I neverdeemed we thus should sever,Two hearts that vowed to love forever;I never thought in this proud, selfish world,That love so soon her soft white wings furled.Our parting I remember yet too well:The budding spring was decking earth once more,The birds were singing in the quiet dell,The south winds sighed along the rippling shore.We stood where fragrant violets grewBeside thy cottage door;The early dawn soft glances threwThe lovely landscape o’er.I took thy hand, it quivered not;Thy face was calm and cold;You knew not then the storm of griefThat o’er my spirit rolled.One impassioned kiss I pressedUpon thy lovely brow,But thou turn’st coldly from my side—How strangely changed wert thou!We parted, and we ne’er have metSince then, long years ago;But still I dream, and dream of thee—Sad thoughts will backward flow.Since then I’ve wandered far and wideO’er earth and stormy sea,And mingled in the world’s deep strife,But still I think of thee.The human heart I trust no more;Sweet smile or voice’s toneAre but an echo on the shoreOf dreams that long have flown.Thus it is with many a oneIn the world’s hurry and strife:Deserted and ever alone,They end a weary life.Hoping not and trusting never,Waifs on the sea of time;Longing, aye, longing foreverFor something more divine.
I neverdeemed we thus should sever,Two hearts that vowed to love forever;I never thought in this proud, selfish world,That love so soon her soft white wings furled.Our parting I remember yet too well:The budding spring was decking earth once more,The birds were singing in the quiet dell,The south winds sighed along the rippling shore.We stood where fragrant violets grewBeside thy cottage door;The early dawn soft glances threwThe lovely landscape o’er.I took thy hand, it quivered not;Thy face was calm and cold;You knew not then the storm of griefThat o’er my spirit rolled.One impassioned kiss I pressedUpon thy lovely brow,But thou turn’st coldly from my side—How strangely changed wert thou!We parted, and we ne’er have metSince then, long years ago;But still I dream, and dream of thee—Sad thoughts will backward flow.Since then I’ve wandered far and wideO’er earth and stormy sea,And mingled in the world’s deep strife,But still I think of thee.The human heart I trust no more;Sweet smile or voice’s toneAre but an echo on the shoreOf dreams that long have flown.Thus it is with many a oneIn the world’s hurry and strife:Deserted and ever alone,They end a weary life.Hoping not and trusting never,Waifs on the sea of time;Longing, aye, longing foreverFor something more divine.
I neverdeemed we thus should sever,Two hearts that vowed to love forever;I never thought in this proud, selfish world,That love so soon her soft white wings furled.Our parting I remember yet too well:The budding spring was decking earth once more,The birds were singing in the quiet dell,The south winds sighed along the rippling shore.
We stood where fragrant violets grewBeside thy cottage door;The early dawn soft glances threwThe lovely landscape o’er.I took thy hand, it quivered not;Thy face was calm and cold;You knew not then the storm of griefThat o’er my spirit rolled.
One impassioned kiss I pressedUpon thy lovely brow,But thou turn’st coldly from my side—How strangely changed wert thou!We parted, and we ne’er have metSince then, long years ago;But still I dream, and dream of thee—Sad thoughts will backward flow.
Since then I’ve wandered far and wideO’er earth and stormy sea,And mingled in the world’s deep strife,But still I think of thee.The human heart I trust no more;Sweet smile or voice’s toneAre but an echo on the shoreOf dreams that long have flown.
Thus it is with many a oneIn the world’s hurry and strife:Deserted and ever alone,They end a weary life.Hoping not and trusting never,Waifs on the sea of time;Longing, aye, longing foreverFor something more divine.
Itis years since we met, my brother,Years of more loss than gain;I wonder as I sit by the fireIf we e’er shall meet again.I’m tired of time’s ceaseless changes,And longing as ne’er beforeFor the faces I knew in childhood,And smiles that greet me no more.And I sigh for a time long vanished,And weep o’er my life’s lost cause.Ah! the battle was long and doubtful,With never a lull nor pauseIn the long strife fierce and vengeful;And swept from the fateful fieldWas my torn and toil-stained bannerWhen at last I was forced to yield.I am thinking to-night, my brother,We two may clasp hands once more,And sing the songs of the olden time,And wander there as of yoreOver the hills long, long forsaken,And by paths that are o’ergrown;By many a nook and quiet valeBordering our dear old home.We may seek the stream in the meadow,And wander on through the glade,And revel again in joyousnessIn the woodland’s grateful shade;And hear in fancy our father’s voice,And our mother’s cheerful callTo the noon-tide rest and welcome cheerLovingly prepared for all.Ah! to-night in this dreary northland,How the wild wind sweeps and moansThrough the lone forest bare and ghostly,That awesomely rocks and groans!Madly it leaps o’er the white, dead hills,Sweeping fiercely the plain afar;And there is no light of pale, cold moon,Nor yet of wandering star.Far away in the sunny southland,Where the breeze steals o’er the sea,Toying with foliage and flowers,And where wild birds carol free,There, brother, thy feet are wandering;And over my stricken headOld memories are fondly crowdingOf the living and the dead.
Itis years since we met, my brother,Years of more loss than gain;I wonder as I sit by the fireIf we e’er shall meet again.I’m tired of time’s ceaseless changes,And longing as ne’er beforeFor the faces I knew in childhood,And smiles that greet me no more.And I sigh for a time long vanished,And weep o’er my life’s lost cause.Ah! the battle was long and doubtful,With never a lull nor pauseIn the long strife fierce and vengeful;And swept from the fateful fieldWas my torn and toil-stained bannerWhen at last I was forced to yield.I am thinking to-night, my brother,We two may clasp hands once more,And sing the songs of the olden time,And wander there as of yoreOver the hills long, long forsaken,And by paths that are o’ergrown;By many a nook and quiet valeBordering our dear old home.We may seek the stream in the meadow,And wander on through the glade,And revel again in joyousnessIn the woodland’s grateful shade;And hear in fancy our father’s voice,And our mother’s cheerful callTo the noon-tide rest and welcome cheerLovingly prepared for all.Ah! to-night in this dreary northland,How the wild wind sweeps and moansThrough the lone forest bare and ghostly,That awesomely rocks and groans!Madly it leaps o’er the white, dead hills,Sweeping fiercely the plain afar;And there is no light of pale, cold moon,Nor yet of wandering star.Far away in the sunny southland,Where the breeze steals o’er the sea,Toying with foliage and flowers,And where wild birds carol free,There, brother, thy feet are wandering;And over my stricken headOld memories are fondly crowdingOf the living and the dead.
Itis years since we met, my brother,Years of more loss than gain;I wonder as I sit by the fireIf we e’er shall meet again.I’m tired of time’s ceaseless changes,And longing as ne’er beforeFor the faces I knew in childhood,And smiles that greet me no more.
And I sigh for a time long vanished,And weep o’er my life’s lost cause.Ah! the battle was long and doubtful,With never a lull nor pauseIn the long strife fierce and vengeful;And swept from the fateful fieldWas my torn and toil-stained bannerWhen at last I was forced to yield.
I am thinking to-night, my brother,We two may clasp hands once more,And sing the songs of the olden time,And wander there as of yoreOver the hills long, long forsaken,And by paths that are o’ergrown;By many a nook and quiet valeBordering our dear old home.
We may seek the stream in the meadow,And wander on through the glade,And revel again in joyousnessIn the woodland’s grateful shade;And hear in fancy our father’s voice,And our mother’s cheerful callTo the noon-tide rest and welcome cheerLovingly prepared for all.
Ah! to-night in this dreary northland,How the wild wind sweeps and moansThrough the lone forest bare and ghostly,That awesomely rocks and groans!Madly it leaps o’er the white, dead hills,Sweeping fiercely the plain afar;And there is no light of pale, cold moon,Nor yet of wandering star.
Far away in the sunny southland,Where the breeze steals o’er the sea,Toying with foliage and flowers,And where wild birds carol free,There, brother, thy feet are wandering;And over my stricken headOld memories are fondly crowdingOf the living and the dead.
A SONG.
Inthe loveliest springtime,’Neath a willow tree,There we laid poor LulaNear the sighing sea,That the birds might warbleSweetly o’er her tomb;That the flowers in beautyThere might ever bloom.
Inthe loveliest springtime,’Neath a willow tree,There we laid poor LulaNear the sighing sea,That the birds might warbleSweetly o’er her tomb;That the flowers in beautyThere might ever bloom.
Inthe loveliest springtime,’Neath a willow tree,There we laid poor LulaNear the sighing sea,That the birds might warbleSweetly o’er her tomb;That the flowers in beautyThere might ever bloom.
CHORUS.
Yes, by the sobbing sea we’ve laid her,Near its waters flow,Where the sad waves are ever breathingMusic deep and low.
Yes, by the sobbing sea we’ve laid her,Near its waters flow,Where the sad waves are ever breathingMusic deep and low.
Yes, by the sobbing sea we’ve laid her,Near its waters flow,Where the sad waves are ever breathingMusic deep and low.
Whenthe shadowy twilightGathered o’er the lea,And the stars of heavenWere beaming on the sea,Then with gentle LulaOft we silent strayedBy the murmuring watersWhere the moonlight played.Now no more with LulaOn the ocean’s shore;When the breeze is dyingLula comes no more.Gone to rest foreverIn her beauty’s bloom,’Neath a dark green willow,In the silent tomb.I am growing wearyWatching here alone,For my darling LulaNevermore will come.Yet a voice is everWhisp’ring unto meThat there are no partingsBeyond life’s mystic sea.
Whenthe shadowy twilightGathered o’er the lea,And the stars of heavenWere beaming on the sea,Then with gentle LulaOft we silent strayedBy the murmuring watersWhere the moonlight played.Now no more with LulaOn the ocean’s shore;When the breeze is dyingLula comes no more.Gone to rest foreverIn her beauty’s bloom,’Neath a dark green willow,In the silent tomb.I am growing wearyWatching here alone,For my darling LulaNevermore will come.Yet a voice is everWhisp’ring unto meThat there are no partingsBeyond life’s mystic sea.
Whenthe shadowy twilightGathered o’er the lea,And the stars of heavenWere beaming on the sea,Then with gentle LulaOft we silent strayedBy the murmuring watersWhere the moonlight played.
Now no more with LulaOn the ocean’s shore;When the breeze is dyingLula comes no more.Gone to rest foreverIn her beauty’s bloom,’Neath a dark green willow,In the silent tomb.
I am growing wearyWatching here alone,For my darling LulaNevermore will come.Yet a voice is everWhisp’ring unto meThat there are no partingsBeyond life’s mystic sea.
Tiredof the past and present,For the slowly fading yearsHave brought so little of joyance,So many sorrows and tears.Tired of fighting life’s battleBetween evil and the good;Tired, so tired of livingAnd being misunderstood.The path of life to the presentHas been hard and rough all the way;My feet are worn and bleeding,And burdened from day to dayWith a load that never grows lighter;And hope dying with the yearsOf toil and disappointment,Life’s bitterness, pains, and tears.Tired of the cold surroundingsOf folly, ambition, and pride;The glint, the glitter, and falsenessAlluring on every side.Tired of my own sad longingsFor blessings I never knew:A love that is deep and changeless,A friend that is ever true.Tired of the stony glancesOf eyes cold as pale death,Where charity never lingers,And with their icicle breathThey blight and wither the bloomsEnshrined in the human heart;The bright hopes and aspirationsOf our life a very part.Life’s like the sea, ever restless,Limitless, deep, and wide,Where many gallant ships go downBattling ’gainst storm and tide;Whilst others sail gaily afar’Mid beautiful isles of song,O’er blue and sunny wreathed seas,Where pleasures innumerable throng.Tired of watching and waitingThe dawn of a happier day;Will the night with gloom and sadnessNevermore pass away?If there’s aught in the mystic futureOf reward for the dreary past,Will the wayworn, weary wandererFind rest and peace at last?
Tiredof the past and present,For the slowly fading yearsHave brought so little of joyance,So many sorrows and tears.Tired of fighting life’s battleBetween evil and the good;Tired, so tired of livingAnd being misunderstood.The path of life to the presentHas been hard and rough all the way;My feet are worn and bleeding,And burdened from day to dayWith a load that never grows lighter;And hope dying with the yearsOf toil and disappointment,Life’s bitterness, pains, and tears.Tired of the cold surroundingsOf folly, ambition, and pride;The glint, the glitter, and falsenessAlluring on every side.Tired of my own sad longingsFor blessings I never knew:A love that is deep and changeless,A friend that is ever true.Tired of the stony glancesOf eyes cold as pale death,Where charity never lingers,And with their icicle breathThey blight and wither the bloomsEnshrined in the human heart;The bright hopes and aspirationsOf our life a very part.Life’s like the sea, ever restless,Limitless, deep, and wide,Where many gallant ships go downBattling ’gainst storm and tide;Whilst others sail gaily afar’Mid beautiful isles of song,O’er blue and sunny wreathed seas,Where pleasures innumerable throng.Tired of watching and waitingThe dawn of a happier day;Will the night with gloom and sadnessNevermore pass away?If there’s aught in the mystic futureOf reward for the dreary past,Will the wayworn, weary wandererFind rest and peace at last?
Tiredof the past and present,For the slowly fading yearsHave brought so little of joyance,So many sorrows and tears.Tired of fighting life’s battleBetween evil and the good;Tired, so tired of livingAnd being misunderstood.
The path of life to the presentHas been hard and rough all the way;My feet are worn and bleeding,And burdened from day to dayWith a load that never grows lighter;And hope dying with the yearsOf toil and disappointment,Life’s bitterness, pains, and tears.
Tired of the cold surroundingsOf folly, ambition, and pride;The glint, the glitter, and falsenessAlluring on every side.Tired of my own sad longingsFor blessings I never knew:A love that is deep and changeless,A friend that is ever true.
Tired of the stony glancesOf eyes cold as pale death,Where charity never lingers,And with their icicle breathThey blight and wither the bloomsEnshrined in the human heart;The bright hopes and aspirationsOf our life a very part.
Life’s like the sea, ever restless,Limitless, deep, and wide,Where many gallant ships go downBattling ’gainst storm and tide;Whilst others sail gaily afar’Mid beautiful isles of song,O’er blue and sunny wreathed seas,Where pleasures innumerable throng.
Tired of watching and waitingThe dawn of a happier day;Will the night with gloom and sadnessNevermore pass away?If there’s aught in the mystic futureOf reward for the dreary past,Will the wayworn, weary wandererFind rest and peace at last?
Whydo I ever dream of thee?In vain are thy dreamings, O memory;Why sit in sorrow—others are gay—Restless and grieving, as day follows day?Bright as the morn sparkling in dew,Blooming with roses’ beauteous hue;Pure as an angel, artless and true,Smiling in gladness, loving me too.When o’er the lea with silent wingSummer was stealing flowers of spring,In a sweet valley, where willows waveO’er faded blossom, made we her grave.I’m only waiting for that blest hourWhen I shall rest with my lost flower,Waking at last where the perfect dayIn loveliness shall fade not away.
Whydo I ever dream of thee?In vain are thy dreamings, O memory;Why sit in sorrow—others are gay—Restless and grieving, as day follows day?Bright as the morn sparkling in dew,Blooming with roses’ beauteous hue;Pure as an angel, artless and true,Smiling in gladness, loving me too.When o’er the lea with silent wingSummer was stealing flowers of spring,In a sweet valley, where willows waveO’er faded blossom, made we her grave.I’m only waiting for that blest hourWhen I shall rest with my lost flower,Waking at last where the perfect dayIn loveliness shall fade not away.
Whydo I ever dream of thee?In vain are thy dreamings, O memory;Why sit in sorrow—others are gay—Restless and grieving, as day follows day?
Bright as the morn sparkling in dew,Blooming with roses’ beauteous hue;Pure as an angel, artless and true,Smiling in gladness, loving me too.
When o’er the lea with silent wingSummer was stealing flowers of spring,In a sweet valley, where willows waveO’er faded blossom, made we her grave.
I’m only waiting for that blest hourWhen I shall rest with my lost flower,Waking at last where the perfect dayIn loveliness shall fade not away.
Theday has gone and the night is come,Dreary, dreary, dreary;And hope is dying within my breast,Weary, weary, weary.The pitiless winds sweep the earth in wrath,Drifting, drifting, driftingThe fierce white snow, with a wail of woe,Over the wild, dark reaches sifting.I sit by the dim, forsaken hearth,Thinking, thinking, thinkingOf a love that ne’er can come to me;Shrinking, shrinking, shrinkingFrom the cold clasp of a fateful handThat shadowed all the years.Dreary without, and dreary within,Dying, dying, dyingIs the last hope of a broken lifeThat can love and trust no more.
Theday has gone and the night is come,Dreary, dreary, dreary;And hope is dying within my breast,Weary, weary, weary.The pitiless winds sweep the earth in wrath,Drifting, drifting, driftingThe fierce white snow, with a wail of woe,Over the wild, dark reaches sifting.I sit by the dim, forsaken hearth,Thinking, thinking, thinkingOf a love that ne’er can come to me;Shrinking, shrinking, shrinkingFrom the cold clasp of a fateful handThat shadowed all the years.Dreary without, and dreary within,Dying, dying, dyingIs the last hope of a broken lifeThat can love and trust no more.
Theday has gone and the night is come,Dreary, dreary, dreary;And hope is dying within my breast,Weary, weary, weary.
The pitiless winds sweep the earth in wrath,Drifting, drifting, driftingThe fierce white snow, with a wail of woe,Over the wild, dark reaches sifting.
I sit by the dim, forsaken hearth,Thinking, thinking, thinkingOf a love that ne’er can come to me;Shrinking, shrinking, shrinkingFrom the cold clasp of a fateful handThat shadowed all the years.
Dreary without, and dreary within,Dying, dying, dyingIs the last hope of a broken lifeThat can love and trust no more.