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.