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Posts Tagged ‘youth’

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew.
The wide-spreading pond and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
And e’en the rude bucket that hung in the well.

That moss-covered bucket I hailed as a treasure,
For often at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell.
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.

How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Tho’ filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hung in the well.

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Bing Crosby sings The Old Oaken Bucket (3:14).

This video shows the old oaken bucket in Massachusetts and a 1902 recording of the song by the Edison Quartet is played on an antique Victrola (4:09)

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Do not despair when you are young and tender –
Though pierced by thorns, confused, and by thrown stones are bruised,
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Time serves you and the answer it will render.
Though dark now is the night, the sunrise will be bright.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Though it may seem that hope of joy is slender,
The aged felt that way, in some past dismal day.
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Till weak are strong, the world attempts to hinder.
A sapling blown by wind, a mighty oak will end.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Now isn’t all; it preens as a pretender
It fills the present space; confronts us face to face.
But aches will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

The sullen days are few; do not surrender
The prize goes to the few who see their troubles through.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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The Old Men And The Young Men

The old men sit in chambers plotting war.
The generals push pieces here and there.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.

The wise and white-haired aged walk the floor
And find young fools so they the burden bear.
The old men sit in chambers plotting war.

And they remain where they have been before
While others are uprooted like a tare.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.

In meeting rooms and offices – no gore.
There, ideologies seem pure and fair.
The old men sit in chambers plotting war.

Somewhere, a selfishness is at the core
The meal is greed or power, life’s the fare.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.

One is removed from battle where blood pours
The other from a field, cold, unaware.
The old men sit in chambers plotting war.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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Sustinentes Tagging an abseitigem Ort DSCF2205

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Just Grow Up!

You know that those kids who are tagging
Think it’s swell and they go around bragging.
     But male dogs go marking;
     They’re animals, barking.
So kids, your humanity’s sagging.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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