codex002489-069r

Where ever now, a sorrow stands
Tis mine to heal his nail torn hands.
In every lonely lane and street
Tis mine to wash his wounded feet.
Tis mine to roll away the stone
And warm his heart against my own.
And here, on earth, I find it all -
The young arch angels, white and tall.
The Golden City, and the doors
Swing open, and the prize is yours.

The World as it is.

Its a grand old world, if youre great
And a mean old world, if youre small.
Its a world full of hate
For the foolish who prate.
Of the uselessness; of it all.
Its a beautiful world to see
Or its dismal in every zone.
The thing it will be, in its gloom or its glee
Depends on yourself alone.