My Old Guitar

By L. Hennion

Ensconced on yonder rosewood shelf,
It has a corner to itself;

And as it lies in state apart,

So rests its mem'ry in my heart. No instrument with airy grace Can ever now usurp its place.

No other hand but mine e'er brings

To life the secrets of its strings.

No other notes, anear, afar,

Are sweet as thine, my old guitar.

Once slender fingers touched those strings
And made them sing of heavenly things;
Above them once a fair face bent,

The while I watched with joy, content.

The firelight, resting o'er her hair,

A lustrous halo forming there.

What plans we planned, what dreams we dreamed,
As o'er the strings her fingers gleamed.

No other notes, anear, afar,

Are sweet as thine, my old guitar.

But Heaven saw she was most fair;
Too frail for earth-life's grief and care;
So, one day, from my shelt'ring love,
One bore her to the King's above.

What plans we planned, what dreams we dreamed,
As o'er the strings her fingers gleamed.
The firelight, resting o'er her hair,

A lustrous halo forming there.

No other notes, anear, afar,
Are sweet as thine, my old guitar.