 | A merry-go-round of song |  |
138
THE OLD KING
Although the King had never met
The sight or foe he feared,
The tears ran down his tawny cheeks
And sparkled in his beard:
For in his worn and ancient heart
A bell of memory tolled
A thought of little Absalom
When only three years old.
The sight or foe he feared,
The tears ran down his tawny cheeks
And sparkled in his beard:
For in his worn and ancient heart
A bell of memory tolled
A thought of little Absalom
When only three years old.
Once more the King in fancy nursed
The Prince upon his knees,
To tell him of the eagle's flight,
The mountain's cloak of trees.
Once more he watched the velvet buds
Of childishness unfold
In Absalom the Beautiful
When only three years old.
The Prince upon his knees,
To tell him of the eagle's flight,
The mountain's cloak of trees.
Once more he watched the velvet buds
Of childishness unfold
In Absalom the Beautiful
When only three years old.
Among the tents of Long Ago,
To please his dearest boy,
He traced a lion in the sand,
And laughed to see his joy.
Shepherd and Psalmist, on the tree
Of Time were fruits of gold
When Absalom the Beautiful
Was only three years old!
To please his dearest boy,
He traced a lion in the sand,
And laughed to see his joy.
Shepherd and Psalmist, on the tree
Of Time were fruits of gold
When Absalom the Beautiful
Was only three years old!
| A merry-go-round of song | |