| Show TR B 11 rhotea ti it little vi aard ord called shoat ho artill we tta ae 09 old as aa jeavous He avous alual tile the word eor apoleon and I 1 alto joy la 19 evor ever now new I 1 it I 1 ini a oar ear of 0 lovo when tile tha earth tool chape from nothing and the blue sky lurched aciro jolibo offitt a it ua lag lived yeata itwara U was born bora oe 0 and laughter and hag baa dried tears its ita the cagto gout boul of oc and ha living fire ot of axt art and chofen ic it to kiva 1 just that little word 1 ab abelha clio aching bearth and an boavy lt it has bidden hear and smile it has baa hidden bidden youth be merry men r and haj the tha After whilo of the oars to peace and gladness ond and the dreary days and boax ale aio forgot tott la in the glory elory of oe it iti i pored oven even it has mado made the heart go leaping of 0 the tha school boy at his big play plas it lias bas piled filled with gladder all the of oe his day it h his bridged world sundered chasms and bm played tile the noblest par la ahe life and strife of 0 baing juat that little word sweetheart it haa the eve ol 01 ot battle lt it hae haa ired the heart of dawn it has haa braved the mouth of oe daano cannon a atud haa berno barab ba bannera tinera on it i w who r rotha taa crap aap rt haa like ilka a blea bleating aing oa the tha nation lips oi of sleep it has hus hush od ed the theory cry ot of children lt it haz has fired bred the souls of men beaten baton back on chorba of 0 fallara to be bold and strong again ft en to the hermits bar mita cloistered allence or LU la traffic treffelo wart inart ita of oe all ta in all through all just juat that little word sweetheart e nd forever greyor and forever through gh the endlessness ot of time it t shall hallow bong acing and story and shall be b tho the soul ot of rhyme it teh shall albea be a part ot of much as heartbeat much as brEt breath th it shall be the joy of living and the tha overthrow of death sol bid thoo kneel and liten till I 1 1 whisper thee the ley bey till I 1 tilee why aby if ib labor lite life love death and mystery if siut ut or palace sort or malter lod or geri lug toll or art its ta ot of till oil in all through all just juet that little lettla word it J W foley in new york time tim |
