DO you remember the cardinal’s call,Brother O’ mine?The hills that we climbed, be they ever so tall,With never a fear for a hurt or a fall,Wondering ever if skies did fall,Brother O’ mine.Many a hill we’ve climbed since then,Brother O’ mine.Been pelted with roses and rinsed with the rainOf our sorrowing teardrops time and again;Despair in our hearts and a clutch of pain,Brother O’ mine.And there were pebbles that hurt our feetBrother O’ mine.But the dust of the highway seemed velvet sweetTho’ many a cross and trials we’d meet,With daisies and graves at our very feet,Brother O’ mine.Father we had in the bygone days,Brother O’ mine.And mother to wipe all our tears away.Tho’ sodden the sky, and shadows be greyGod will speak clear of the mist some day,Brother O’ mine.
DO you remember the cardinal’s call,Brother O’ mine?The hills that we climbed, be they ever so tall,With never a fear for a hurt or a fall,Wondering ever if skies did fall,Brother O’ mine.Many a hill we’ve climbed since then,Brother O’ mine.Been pelted with roses and rinsed with the rainOf our sorrowing teardrops time and again;Despair in our hearts and a clutch of pain,Brother O’ mine.And there were pebbles that hurt our feetBrother O’ mine.But the dust of the highway seemed velvet sweetTho’ many a cross and trials we’d meet,With daisies and graves at our very feet,Brother O’ mine.Father we had in the bygone days,Brother O’ mine.And mother to wipe all our tears away.Tho’ sodden the sky, and shadows be greyGod will speak clear of the mist some day,Brother O’ mine.
DO you remember the cardinal’s call,Brother O’ mine?The hills that we climbed, be they ever so tall,With never a fear for a hurt or a fall,Wondering ever if skies did fall,Brother O’ mine.
Many a hill we’ve climbed since then,Brother O’ mine.Been pelted with roses and rinsed with the rainOf our sorrowing teardrops time and again;Despair in our hearts and a clutch of pain,Brother O’ mine.
And there were pebbles that hurt our feetBrother O’ mine.But the dust of the highway seemed velvet sweetTho’ many a cross and trials we’d meet,With daisies and graves at our very feet,Brother O’ mine.
Father we had in the bygone days,Brother O’ mine.And mother to wipe all our tears away.Tho’ sodden the sky, and shadows be greyGod will speak clear of the mist some day,Brother O’ mine.
THE flowers upon my lady’s hat,Kept bobbing so this way then that,Until the Church seemed faint and blurredThe morning Psalms I scarcely heard.Unless I see I cannot hear,So, I just admired that flower so near.’Twas unlike any bloom that blowsOn trees or waves in garden rows,Where clings the morning glory vineOr beds of phlox or columbine,Like nothing in the drowsy southWith love songs oozing from its mouth,In all the languorous, summer noonsOr riotous breaths of all perfumes,Like nothing in my garden bedOf flowers washed blue or drenched red;Peculiarly designed it satAnd nodded on my lady’s hat.I summoned all my powers to witBut could not find a name for it.I sought my couch with troubled breast,I could not from my memory wrestThe name of that tormenting bloom,Till wearied tossing, then I swoonedInto forgetfulness and dreamedOf lands beyond where sunlight streamed,In gardens where an angel talkedIn soft glad whispers as he walked.And touched each blossoming bud and bellWith pride and love ineffable.But one he loved beyond compare;He stooped and kissed the petals rare.With eagerness I did persistTo see the flower the angel kissed.And there it grew a thing intact,The flower upon my lady’s hat.It stood a straight slim tossing flameAnd I had yet to learn its name.With this in mind I tried to talk,But the angel only sped his walk.I could have cried for very shame,Then someone called me by my name.The room was pink with morning light,Because dreams vanish with the night;And things are not what they seem,I called the little flower “dream.”
THE flowers upon my lady’s hat,Kept bobbing so this way then that,Until the Church seemed faint and blurredThe morning Psalms I scarcely heard.Unless I see I cannot hear,So, I just admired that flower so near.’Twas unlike any bloom that blowsOn trees or waves in garden rows,Where clings the morning glory vineOr beds of phlox or columbine,Like nothing in the drowsy southWith love songs oozing from its mouth,In all the languorous, summer noonsOr riotous breaths of all perfumes,Like nothing in my garden bedOf flowers washed blue or drenched red;Peculiarly designed it satAnd nodded on my lady’s hat.I summoned all my powers to witBut could not find a name for it.I sought my couch with troubled breast,I could not from my memory wrestThe name of that tormenting bloom,Till wearied tossing, then I swoonedInto forgetfulness and dreamedOf lands beyond where sunlight streamed,In gardens where an angel talkedIn soft glad whispers as he walked.And touched each blossoming bud and bellWith pride and love ineffable.But one he loved beyond compare;He stooped and kissed the petals rare.With eagerness I did persistTo see the flower the angel kissed.And there it grew a thing intact,The flower upon my lady’s hat.It stood a straight slim tossing flameAnd I had yet to learn its name.With this in mind I tried to talk,But the angel only sped his walk.I could have cried for very shame,Then someone called me by my name.The room was pink with morning light,Because dreams vanish with the night;And things are not what they seem,I called the little flower “dream.”
THE flowers upon my lady’s hat,Kept bobbing so this way then that,Until the Church seemed faint and blurredThe morning Psalms I scarcely heard.Unless I see I cannot hear,So, I just admired that flower so near.’Twas unlike any bloom that blowsOn trees or waves in garden rows,Where clings the morning glory vineOr beds of phlox or columbine,Like nothing in the drowsy southWith love songs oozing from its mouth,In all the languorous, summer noonsOr riotous breaths of all perfumes,Like nothing in my garden bedOf flowers washed blue or drenched red;Peculiarly designed it satAnd nodded on my lady’s hat.I summoned all my powers to witBut could not find a name for it.
I sought my couch with troubled breast,I could not from my memory wrestThe name of that tormenting bloom,Till wearied tossing, then I swoonedInto forgetfulness and dreamedOf lands beyond where sunlight streamed,In gardens where an angel talkedIn soft glad whispers as he walked.And touched each blossoming bud and bellWith pride and love ineffable.But one he loved beyond compare;He stooped and kissed the petals rare.With eagerness I did persistTo see the flower the angel kissed.And there it grew a thing intact,The flower upon my lady’s hat.It stood a straight slim tossing flameAnd I had yet to learn its name.With this in mind I tried to talk,But the angel only sped his walk.I could have cried for very shame,Then someone called me by my name.The room was pink with morning light,Because dreams vanish with the night;And things are not what they seem,I called the little flower “dream.”
IT’S the cross that makes the triumphA glorious thing to share,It’s the sweet behind the bitterMakes the burden light to bear.It’s the shine past all the rainingOf the heart-break and the tear,It’s the faith in dim tomorrow’sClears the mist from yesteryears.So I’ll take my shine and showerThe bitter with the sweet,And I’ll make a friend of sorrowEvery time we chance to meet.Give me triumph with disasterAnd my share of gain and lossAnd I’ll not be asking angelsFor a sweeter, gentler cross.
IT’S the cross that makes the triumphA glorious thing to share,It’s the sweet behind the bitterMakes the burden light to bear.It’s the shine past all the rainingOf the heart-break and the tear,It’s the faith in dim tomorrow’sClears the mist from yesteryears.So I’ll take my shine and showerThe bitter with the sweet,And I’ll make a friend of sorrowEvery time we chance to meet.Give me triumph with disasterAnd my share of gain and lossAnd I’ll not be asking angelsFor a sweeter, gentler cross.
IT’S the cross that makes the triumphA glorious thing to share,It’s the sweet behind the bitterMakes the burden light to bear.It’s the shine past all the rainingOf the heart-break and the tear,It’s the faith in dim tomorrow’sClears the mist from yesteryears.
So I’ll take my shine and showerThe bitter with the sweet,And I’ll make a friend of sorrowEvery time we chance to meet.Give me triumph with disasterAnd my share of gain and lossAnd I’ll not be asking angelsFor a sweeter, gentler cross.
THE harp like strings of destinyStretched taut awhile, then broke,So life gives o’er the battleTo death’s relentless stroke.What’s wealth with all its glitterWhen the sands of life are spent?It cannot unfold the curtainOf that solitary tent.Fame is just a tempting baubleThat comes when least we call,And fate stands thus dividingRain and roses ’mongst us all.Life is just a few short summers,Breath of roses and a prayer.Then a little tent to sleep inWhen we grow too tired to care.The high, the low, the haughty,The humble, too, meet here.And share like common brothersThe sorrow and the tear.But life must have its rainingFor the master wills it so;And broken harps are mended,After death has struck the blow.
THE harp like strings of destinyStretched taut awhile, then broke,So life gives o’er the battleTo death’s relentless stroke.What’s wealth with all its glitterWhen the sands of life are spent?It cannot unfold the curtainOf that solitary tent.Fame is just a tempting baubleThat comes when least we call,And fate stands thus dividingRain and roses ’mongst us all.Life is just a few short summers,Breath of roses and a prayer.Then a little tent to sleep inWhen we grow too tired to care.The high, the low, the haughty,The humble, too, meet here.And share like common brothersThe sorrow and the tear.But life must have its rainingFor the master wills it so;And broken harps are mended,After death has struck the blow.
THE harp like strings of destinyStretched taut awhile, then broke,So life gives o’er the battleTo death’s relentless stroke.
What’s wealth with all its glitterWhen the sands of life are spent?It cannot unfold the curtainOf that solitary tent.
Fame is just a tempting baubleThat comes when least we call,And fate stands thus dividingRain and roses ’mongst us all.
Life is just a few short summers,Breath of roses and a prayer.Then a little tent to sleep inWhen we grow too tired to care.
The high, the low, the haughty,The humble, too, meet here.And share like common brothersThe sorrow and the tear.
But life must have its rainingFor the master wills it so;And broken harps are mended,After death has struck the blow.
THIS morning when I saw youLooking into my bedroom window,I thought that I disliked you very much,For all I could seeYou very much resembled other daysSpotless and so wholesome,With all your tinsel bright,But, your beauty touched me not at all.But I decided to put up with youAs one would with strange, unwelcome guests.I turned you around and about many, many times,As a child would a new toy.You were a lovely sight,And yet I felt a bit depressed,Till of a sudden I thoughtI saw you smile.Or was it only fancy?Then I gave you my profoundest thoughtFor a short while.And way down in your remotest depthsGreat possibilities looked out at me,And I thought of all the things you might doFor this restless world.So I fell in love with you,Before you were a half hour old.
THIS morning when I saw youLooking into my bedroom window,I thought that I disliked you very much,For all I could seeYou very much resembled other daysSpotless and so wholesome,With all your tinsel bright,But, your beauty touched me not at all.But I decided to put up with youAs one would with strange, unwelcome guests.I turned you around and about many, many times,As a child would a new toy.You were a lovely sight,And yet I felt a bit depressed,Till of a sudden I thoughtI saw you smile.Or was it only fancy?Then I gave you my profoundest thoughtFor a short while.And way down in your remotest depthsGreat possibilities looked out at me,And I thought of all the things you might doFor this restless world.So I fell in love with you,Before you were a half hour old.
THIS morning when I saw youLooking into my bedroom window,I thought that I disliked you very much,For all I could seeYou very much resembled other daysSpotless and so wholesome,With all your tinsel bright,But, your beauty touched me not at all.But I decided to put up with youAs one would with strange, unwelcome guests.I turned you around and about many, many times,As a child would a new toy.You were a lovely sight,And yet I felt a bit depressed,Till of a sudden I thoughtI saw you smile.Or was it only fancy?Then I gave you my profoundest thoughtFor a short while.And way down in your remotest depthsGreat possibilities looked out at me,And I thought of all the things you might doFor this restless world.So I fell in love with you,Before you were a half hour old.
THE folks whom we visit, but once in a whileThose friends who are far, far away,May be thoughtful and generous indeed to a faultAnd kindness itself every day.Not even the hills with the mist on the topAnd the sun shooting flames ’cross the loam,Can make me forget, nor still the wild fretIn my heart for the place I call home.The valleys like Eden are misty and deep:They are washed with the dews of the morn.They but serve to depress me and make me a preyTo longings both sad and forlorn.The lilt of the trees and the song of the birdsOnce so cheery have sobered their tone,For my heartstrings are tied, to a little firesideIn a place that I love to call home.
THE folks whom we visit, but once in a whileThose friends who are far, far away,May be thoughtful and generous indeed to a faultAnd kindness itself every day.Not even the hills with the mist on the topAnd the sun shooting flames ’cross the loam,Can make me forget, nor still the wild fretIn my heart for the place I call home.The valleys like Eden are misty and deep:They are washed with the dews of the morn.They but serve to depress me and make me a preyTo longings both sad and forlorn.The lilt of the trees and the song of the birdsOnce so cheery have sobered their tone,For my heartstrings are tied, to a little firesideIn a place that I love to call home.
THE folks whom we visit, but once in a whileThose friends who are far, far away,May be thoughtful and generous indeed to a faultAnd kindness itself every day.Not even the hills with the mist on the topAnd the sun shooting flames ’cross the loam,Can make me forget, nor still the wild fretIn my heart for the place I call home.
The valleys like Eden are misty and deep:They are washed with the dews of the morn.They but serve to depress me and make me a preyTo longings both sad and forlorn.The lilt of the trees and the song of the birdsOnce so cheery have sobered their tone,For my heartstrings are tied, to a little firesideIn a place that I love to call home.
THO’ I am slow of speech, it matters not,For this I know you feel and understand.Tho’ break I at your nearness, yet I draw apart,With wonder at the touches of your hand.Your eager eyes, so near my drooping lidsAppraise my flushes, and you understandHow fain I am to go, yet do draw near,And tremble at the touches of your hands.Tho’ death should come and seal my eyelids shut,And tho’ I tremble at his cold commands,I could be drawn away e’en from the tomb, methinksIf then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.
THO’ I am slow of speech, it matters not,For this I know you feel and understand.Tho’ break I at your nearness, yet I draw apart,With wonder at the touches of your hand.Your eager eyes, so near my drooping lidsAppraise my flushes, and you understandHow fain I am to go, yet do draw near,And tremble at the touches of your hands.Tho’ death should come and seal my eyelids shut,And tho’ I tremble at his cold commands,I could be drawn away e’en from the tomb, methinksIf then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.
THO’ I am slow of speech, it matters not,For this I know you feel and understand.Tho’ break I at your nearness, yet I draw apart,With wonder at the touches of your hand.
Your eager eyes, so near my drooping lidsAppraise my flushes, and you understandHow fain I am to go, yet do draw near,And tremble at the touches of your hands.
Tho’ death should come and seal my eyelids shut,And tho’ I tremble at his cold commands,I could be drawn away e’en from the tomb, methinksIf then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.
THO’ you’re a heathen to the coreAnd cause him untold pain,He knows everything about youBut loves you just the same.You need not always seek himFor he’s often seeking you.He has a welcome for the strangerBut a warmer heart for you.He is rather scarce on talkingBut at listening he is good.You love to be around himBut respect his solicitude.He is tactful of your failings,Well acquainted with your whim;And there’s nothing in this wide, wide worldYou would not do for him.
THO’ you’re a heathen to the coreAnd cause him untold pain,He knows everything about youBut loves you just the same.You need not always seek himFor he’s often seeking you.He has a welcome for the strangerBut a warmer heart for you.He is rather scarce on talkingBut at listening he is good.You love to be around himBut respect his solicitude.He is tactful of your failings,Well acquainted with your whim;And there’s nothing in this wide, wide worldYou would not do for him.
THO’ you’re a heathen to the coreAnd cause him untold pain,He knows everything about youBut loves you just the same.
You need not always seek himFor he’s often seeking you.He has a welcome for the strangerBut a warmer heart for you.
He is rather scarce on talkingBut at listening he is good.You love to be around himBut respect his solicitude.
He is tactful of your failings,Well acquainted with your whim;And there’s nothing in this wide, wide worldYou would not do for him.
THE summer sweets have faded,The hedge, the vine, and briar,Come, put your hand in mine, my friend,Draw closer to the fire.From footstools let us view the heightsTo which great minds aspire;Here’s Riley, Keats and Emerson,Draw closer to the fire.A brave refrain from unknown bardsAnd Byron’s brave satire,Frank Stanton’s tears and tenderness,Draw closer to the fire.Tho’ cold the winds and fierce the blast,And thwarted our heart’s desire,We’ve Robert Frost to cheer the hearth,Draw closer to the fire.Give me your hand, my steadfast friend;The words that friends requireStay with me thru the dying year,Draw closer to the fire.
THE summer sweets have faded,The hedge, the vine, and briar,Come, put your hand in mine, my friend,Draw closer to the fire.From footstools let us view the heightsTo which great minds aspire;Here’s Riley, Keats and Emerson,Draw closer to the fire.A brave refrain from unknown bardsAnd Byron’s brave satire,Frank Stanton’s tears and tenderness,Draw closer to the fire.Tho’ cold the winds and fierce the blast,And thwarted our heart’s desire,We’ve Robert Frost to cheer the hearth,Draw closer to the fire.Give me your hand, my steadfast friend;The words that friends requireStay with me thru the dying year,Draw closer to the fire.
THE summer sweets have faded,The hedge, the vine, and briar,Come, put your hand in mine, my friend,Draw closer to the fire.
From footstools let us view the heightsTo which great minds aspire;Here’s Riley, Keats and Emerson,Draw closer to the fire.
A brave refrain from unknown bardsAnd Byron’s brave satire,Frank Stanton’s tears and tenderness,Draw closer to the fire.
Tho’ cold the winds and fierce the blast,And thwarted our heart’s desire,We’ve Robert Frost to cheer the hearth,Draw closer to the fire.
Give me your hand, my steadfast friend;The words that friends requireStay with me thru the dying year,Draw closer to the fire.
LOVE is a magnetismThat enables two peopleTo see one another asNo one else can see them,A compelling unresisting elementDrawing them into each other’s arms.Love is an unselfish devotion,Giving service without reward,Sacrifice without compensation,Suffering without alleviation.It is a power, a force,The fundamental principle of life,Without which, the mere act of livingBecomes a farce and a mockery.Love is the foundation of everyUnselfish act, in this grey old world.It is the rosy amber hearthstoneOf earth’s flaming paradise, andA stepping stone to a better world called heaven.
LOVE is a magnetismThat enables two peopleTo see one another asNo one else can see them,A compelling unresisting elementDrawing them into each other’s arms.Love is an unselfish devotion,Giving service without reward,Sacrifice without compensation,Suffering without alleviation.It is a power, a force,The fundamental principle of life,Without which, the mere act of livingBecomes a farce and a mockery.Love is the foundation of everyUnselfish act, in this grey old world.It is the rosy amber hearthstoneOf earth’s flaming paradise, andA stepping stone to a better world called heaven.
LOVE is a magnetismThat enables two peopleTo see one another asNo one else can see them,A compelling unresisting elementDrawing them into each other’s arms.Love is an unselfish devotion,Giving service without reward,Sacrifice without compensation,Suffering without alleviation.It is a power, a force,The fundamental principle of life,Without which, the mere act of livingBecomes a farce and a mockery.Love is the foundation of everyUnselfish act, in this grey old world.It is the rosy amber hearthstoneOf earth’s flaming paradise, andA stepping stone to a better world called heaven.