The matchless glory of an autumn day,
Or who would dream that mortal would essay
To catch the light upon a stream that poured
Down jagged cliffs, where flaming maples towered,
And autumn's mantle over the fair earth lay.
Or who would dream that mortal would essay
To catch the light upon a stream that poured
Down jagged cliffs, where flaming maples towered,
And autumn's mantle over the fair earth lay.
Yet one I knew took up the lifeless brush
And spread the paint with such consummate skill,
That one could see the sunlight dance and thrill
Along the leaves and hear the torrents rush.
It was not that the sight could understand,
It was the soul that moved the artist's hand.
And spread the paint with such consummate skill,
That one could see the sunlight dance and thrill
Along the leaves and hear the torrents rush.
It was not that the sight could understand,
It was the soul that moved the artist's hand.
A HEART OF GOLD
A beggar by the roadside sat him down,
His clothes were poor, he had a heart of gold,
Upon his throne there was a mighty king,
His robes were fair, his heart was hard and cold.
Which would you love, the beggar or the king?
One was a man—the other, well—a thing.
His clothes were poor, he had a heart of gold,
Upon his throne there was a mighty king,
His robes were fair, his heart was hard and cold.
Which would you love, the beggar or the king?
One was a man—the other, well—a thing.
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