  Sunny were the days of childhood, And the old home was aglow With love of the happy faces— A dear dream of long ago. And the household then was perfect, With no vacant, appealing chair, Like a long sweet day of summer, Breathing joyance everywhere. Like songs of birds in the spring-time, Or the fragrant flowers of May, Or the blooming of the summer, Or the seasons that glide away; Aye, a dreaming, and nothing more; True life is beyond the gloaming, Full and free on God’s fadeless shore. |
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