Voices of the Old, Old Days.

OH, voices of the old, old days, Speak once again to me, I walk alone the old, old ways And miss your melody. To-night I close my tired eyes And hear the rain drip slow, And dream a hand is on my brow That pressed it long ago.

My thoughts stray through the lonely night Until I seem to see Home faces, in the firelight, That always smiled on me. Those shadows dancing on the walls Are not by embers cast, They are the forms my heart recalls From out the happy past.

Forgotten is the gathering gloom, The night's deep loneliness, As round me in the silent room With noiseless tread they press. Though in the dark the rain sobs on, I heed its sound no more; For voices of the old, old days Are calling as of yore.