A rose, they say, would smell as sweet
If called a thistle or a thorn
A dewdrop, if 'twere called a beet
Would still, it seems, sweeten each morn.
A name, then, is of no import
And changes not a creature's worth.
Yet, be it bold, or bright, or short,
A name gives one a place on earth.
A rose would smell as sweet, 'tis true,
But 'twould no longer be a rose.
In similie, the morning dew
Would glisten, yet with different pose.
O, how a name gives life to things,
And such sweet harmony it brings
Where is the hope of faith forgot?
Where sleeps the charity of men?
Why do the weak remember not
That love will give them strength again?
The happiness of bygone years
Has faded with our modern ways.
Now pain, and loneliness, and tears
Become the norm, in these sad days.
Awake, o knight! Arouse thy steed!
And man and charger sally forth
To shake the bitterness and greed
That have so plagued our ravaged earth!
And so, with valor, win the day,
And chase despair and loss away!
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