LOCKERBIE
STREET
FOR
THE BIRTHDAY OF JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY, OCTOBER
7, 1914.
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LOCKERBIE
STREET is a little street,
Just one block long;
But the days go there with a magical air,
The whole year long.
The sun in his journey across the sky |
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Slows
his car as he passes by;
The sighing wind and the grieving rain
Change their tune and cease to complain;
And the birds have a wonderful call that seems
Like a street-cry out of the land of dreams; |
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For
there the real and the make-believe meet.
Time does not hurry in Lockerbie Street.
Lockerbie Street is a little street,
Only one block long;
But the moonlight there is strange and fair
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All
the year long,
As ever it was in old romance,
When fairies would sing and fauns would dance,
Proving this earth is subject still
To a blithesome wonder-working Will, |
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Spreading
beauty over the land,
That every beholder may understand
How glory shines round the Mercy-seat.
That is the gospel of Lockerbie Street.
Lockerbie Street is a little street,
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Only
one block long,
A little apart, yet near the heart
Of the city’s throng.
If you are a stranger looking to find
Respite and cheer for soul and mind, |
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And
have lost your way, and would inquire
For a street that will lead to Heart’s Desire,—
To a place where the spirit is never old,
And gladness and love are worth more than gold,—
Ask the first boy or girl you meet! |
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| Everyone
knows where is Lockerbie Street.
Lockerbie Street is a little street,
Only one block long;
But never a street in all the world,
In story or song,
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Is better
beloved by old and young;
For there a poet has lived and sung,
Wise as an angel, glad as a bird,
Fearless and fond in every word,
Many a year. And if you would know |
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The
secret of joy and the cure of woe,—
How to be gentle and brave and sweet,—
Ask your way to Lockerbie Street. |
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