I can not sing the old songs now!
It is not that I deem them low,
'Tis read more

I can not sing the old songs now!
It is not that I deem them low,
'Tis that I can't remember how
They go.

The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.

The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.

California sunlight - sweet Calcutta rain - Honolulu starbright - the song remains the same.

California sunlight - sweet Calcutta rain - Honolulu starbright - the song remains the same.

All this for a song.

All this for a song.

A song of hate is a song of Hell;
Some there be who sing it well.
Let read more

A song of hate is a song of Hell;
Some there be who sing it well.
Let them sing it loud and long,
We lift our hearts in a loftier song:
We life our hearts to Heaven above,
Singing the glory of her we love,
England.

I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
read more

I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
With sleep-compelling croon;
Yet though I'm filled with music,
As choirs of summer birds,
"I cannot sing the old songs"--
I do not know the words.

The song is ended / But the melody lingers on.

The song is ended / But the melody lingers on.

He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."

He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."

In the ink of our sweat we will find it yet,
The song that is fit for men!

In the ink of our sweat we will find it yet,
The song that is fit for men!