Mockin'-bird up yonder.
Robin down below,
An' the world a-singin'
All the song's they know!
A rose is only a rose after all, however sweet and beautiful it may be. And a weed is no worse than a weed, however noxious or deadly its exhalations. Neither can reach into the realm of the other or invade the world of its supremacy. Stick to the world in which you are born, and throw no [bouquets] at the impossible or the unattainable.
To the Dawn.
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,
We go to the gates of day.
Where the sweet light beckons on, dear,
And the roses line the way;
And whether the clouds are heavy
Or whether the skies are blue,
A song on the lips of love, dear,
And a light in the eyes of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,
We go through the happy years,
Where the feet of the joys have gone, dear,
And the smile of the gold appears;
And whether the fates are friendly
And whether the blossoms few,
The touch of the hand is brave, dear,
And a song in the heart of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,
We travel the dusty road,
With the bruise of the battle's brawn, dear,
And the weight of the labor's load;
But whether we lose or conquer,
And whether the rose or rue,
A song on the paths we go, dear,
And a smile on the face of you!