by Edgar Albert Guest
OLD friend o'mine, it's Christmas Day
An' I am thinkin' of you
An' hopin' that no patch of gray
Will hide the blue above you.
An' if I had the power to do
The many things I yearn to,
With joy I'd be surrounding you,
And always when your work is through
There'd be a kiss to turn to.
You'd never know a single care
To cause a minute's worry,
There'd be no road you couldn't fare,
An' do it in a hurry.
I'd clip the thorns from every rose
You get your fingers on to;
An' warm would be each breeze that blows,
An' each night rare with sweet repose,
Could I do what I want to.
An' when you sigh for coins of gold,
I'd fill your purse with money,
An' make each pathway where you strolled
A bright one an' a sunny.
To friend, I'd change each foe to you,
The hand upraised to strike, to
One stretched out in friendship true
I'd turn, if this old heart could do
The things 'twould really like to.
Last updated January 14, 2019