  "I was a stranger and ye took me in, Hungry and ye fed me," No place for me at Newpoint Inn, So home you kindly led me. Some say the world is cold and sour, Devoid of fellow-feeling, But day by day and hour by hour, To me comes a revealing That warm hearts beat where'er we go, Kind hands are gladly serving The kindred hearts which ever show They truly are deserving. The world, indeed, may frigid be When icebergs float around it, But warm, true hearts of constancy, Have uniformly found it To be a place where fragrant flowers Deprive the thorns of stings, Where sunny souls spend happy hours, And Nature laughs and sings. We make our paths, we dwell the lives Selected by ourselves; We shape the destiny that gives Our fate to gods or elves. Then let us know this truth full well Wherever we may be, We have a power to help us dwell In the ville of amity. Robin is a singer; sweet and pure and clear Are the notes he warbles from his covert near; Softly, oh! how softly, at the sunset's glow Does he chant his vespers, plaintive, sweet, and low. Robin is an artist; he beautifies the stream, The vale, the hill, the meadow, until they truly seem To glow, because his presence gives to each a tongue To echo back the music his minstrel throat has sung. |
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