held tight,
They toss their heads and will not hear his music's
wistful hum --
But through each alley way and street, like moths
that seek the light,
With eager eyes and laughing lips the little chil-
dren come.

He plays his ancient, shaky song, his mouth moves to
its sway,
He does not know the tune of it is old and out of
key;
For, through his eyes, a soul stares out that wanders
far away,
In some fair land of youth and love -- some land
that used to be.

The little children cluster close, bareheaded, bare of
limb --
They hold their ragged frocks and dance, they do
not care -- or know,
That they are like a garden place, a fragrant dream
to him,
Or that the tune he plays was quite forgotten long
ago.



"BE OF GOOD CHEER!"