The Singers
Chorus of singers, day by day—
Thick in the world they throng;
But mark ye, masters! the weary way
Is sweet for the sake of song!
Not song that soars to the heights above—
That thrills through the vista'd years;
But it brings the light to the eyes of love,
And is sweet with the gift of tears.
No song that pictures the battle-strife—
For there are the singers grand;
There are greater deeds in the vales of life
Than on heights where the heroes stand.
Chorus of singers! The world hath need
Of the humbler strains that fall
On the wayside lone—on the paths that lead
To the light that shines for all.
Thick in the world they throng;
But mark ye, masters! the weary way
Is sweet for the sake of song!
Not song that soars to the heights above—
That thrills through the vista'd years;
But it brings the light to the eyes of love,
And is sweet with the gift of tears.
No song that pictures the battle-strife—
For there are the singers grand;
There are greater deeds in the vales of life
Than on heights where the heroes stand.
Chorus of singers! The world hath need
Of the humbler strains that fall
On the wayside lone—on the paths that lead
To the light that shines for all.
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