The Path to Home
Once the golden voice of promise whispered sweetly in her ears; She was born to be a garden where the smiles of love might lurk; Now the eyes that shone like jewels are but gateways for her tears, And she takes her place among us, toilers early bound for work.
Is it fate that writes so sadly, or the cruelty of man?
What foul deed has marred the parchment of a life so fair as this? Who has wrecked this lovely temple and destroyed the Maker's plan, Raining blows on cheeks of beauty God had fashioned just to kiss?
Oh, the pale and weary faces of the people that I see
Are the ones that seem to haunt me, and I pray to God above That such cruel desolation shall not ever come to be
Stamped forever in the future on the faces that I love.