The harp like strings of destiny Stretched taut awhile, then broke, So life gives o’er the battle To death’s relentless stroke.
What’s wealth with all its glitter When the sands of life are spent? It cannot unfold the curtain Of that solitary tent.
Fame is just a tempting bauble That comes when least we call, And fate stands thus dividing Rain and roses ’mongst us all.
Life is just a few short summers, Breath of roses and a prayer. Then a little tent to sleep in When we grow too tired to care.
The high, the low, the haughty, The humble, too, meet here. And share like common brothers The sorrow and the tear.
But life must have its raining For the master wills it so; And broken harps are mended, After death has struck the blow.
This morning when I saw you Looking into my bedroom window, I thought that I disliked you very much, For all I could see You very much resembled other days Spotless and so wholesome, With all your tinsel bright, But, your beauty touched me not at all. But I decided to put up with you As 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 thought I saw you smile. Or was it only fancy? Then I gave you my profoundest thought For a short while. And way down in your remotest depths Great possibilities looked out at me, And I thought of all the things you might do For 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 while Those friends who are far, far away, May be thoughtful and generous indeed to a fault And kindness itself every day. Not even the hills with the mist on the top And the sun shooting flames ’cross the loam, Can make me forget, nor still the wild fret In 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 prey To longings both sad and forlorn. The lilt of the trees and the song of the birds Once so cheery have sobered their tone, For my heartstrings are tied, to a little fireside In 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.