What Comes Of Dreams
Oh, why so many dreams bestowed
in young and tender years,
fall into drifting dust decay
then sadly disappear.
Are dreams to blame for broken hearts
and quiet hour’s remorse?
Or is the dreamer born of guilt
for veering from its course?
Are dreams unfair for rising up
to skies in brilliant hue?
Perhaps they take no time for thought
and ask too much to do.
But would a dream be such a thing
if every hand could reach?
What treasure would it bring to bare?
What lesson would it teach?
Oh, grant I pray that I should never
stand amongst the crowd,
and watch with idle faithless feet
while mundane cares enshroud.
No, I will dare to dream above
midst Heaven’s brilliant streams,
and quiet vigil watch and keep
til come... what comes of dreams.
