Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.

Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.

We weep when we are born,
Not when we die!

We weep when we are born,
Not when we die!

Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
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Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
Hoarding golden honey.

Dear Lord, though I be changed to senseless clay,
And serve the Potter as he turn his wheel,
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Dear Lord, though I be changed to senseless clay,
And serve the Potter as he turn his wheel,
I thank Thee for the gracious gift of tears!

Have you not heard the poets tell
How came the dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of read more

Have you not heard the poets tell
How came the dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours?