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, methinks
If then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.
Your Friend
THO’ you’re a heathen to the core
And cause him untold pain,
He knows everything about you
But loves you just the same.
You need not always seek him
For he’s often seeking you.
He has a welcome for the stranger
But a warmer heart for you.
He is rather scarce on talking
But at listening he is good.
You love to be around him
But respect his solicitude.
He is tactful of your failings,
Well acquainted with your whim;
And there’s nothing in this wide, wide world
You would not do for him.
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 heights
To which great minds aspire;
Here’s Riley, Keats and Emerson,
Draw closer to the fire.
A brave refrain from unknown bards
And Byron’s brave satire,
Frank Stanton’s tears and tenderness,
Draw closer to the fire.