 | The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay |  |
JOHN GOODENOUGH.
I
I never saw John Goodenough,And know not where he dwells,
Whether it be on the mountain-top,
Or in the sunny dells;
Whether it be in the city streets,
'Mid the crowds that come and go,
Or in the meads and woodlands green,
Where the murmuring waters flow;
Whether it be by the bare sea-beach,
Where croons the tempest wild,
I never met John Goodenough
Since I was a happy child.
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II
I've heard of him and read of him,And fancied him night and day,
With his soft blue eyes and placid smile,
And his long locks silvery gray;
With his words of goodness for the rich
And kindness for the poor,
And his brave true heart, that, come what will,
Is patient to endure;
But I never met him—never once—
Whether I wept or smiled,
Or thought him other than a dream,
Since I was a little child.
III
I've ceased long, long ago, to hopeI shall see his face again,
Or feel the grasp of his honest hand
In my pleasure or my pain;
Or hear the sound of his manly voice
Breathing his morning prayer,
Or blessing the children at his knee,
With his hands on their golden hair.
John Good, I know, and sometimes meet;
But Goodenough, wise and mild,
Remains a vision of the days
When I was a thoughtless child.
| The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay | |