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Of all the flowers I have seen,
The rose must stand alone.
With simple beauty and gentle sheen,
A fragrance all it's own.
It's grown in many a lovely shade,
From white to darkest red,
Then placed in pots to be displayed,
Or a vase beside the bed.
In life the rose must play it's part
When words can not be said,
To show a maid what's in your heart,
You send it blushing red.
God made the rose to bloom and grow
To delight us with it's beauty,
And with it let's the whole world know:
That this is all their duty.
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There is beauty in the valley,
Through which the river flows.
There is beauty in the valley,
Where the lofty gum tree grows.
The valley's rich and fertile,
It's people till the soil,
Their work is never futile,
It rewards, their honest toil.
There is love within the valley,
A love that's warm, and free,
Years' more than I can tally,
It's where I'd like to be.
There's a house upon the hillside,
That's made of Cedar Red,
Where young folks dreams abide,
For they've not long, been wed.
There's an air about the valley,
That soothes the weary soul,
It's free, so do not dally,
It's balm will make you whole.
God watches o'er the valley,
With an eye that never sleeps,
And walks within the valley,
Loved Shepherd of His sheep.
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Take my hand Lord, take my hand,
And lead me, gently lead me,
Join me to that happy band,
Who's captive souls, are now set free.
I have tried to make it on my own,
To work out, my own Salvation,
Yet I find it's not," by works alone ",
But by grace, and faith, it's won.
I give you my heart and soul, dear Lord,
I accept the love, that You offer,
Oh, fill me with Your Spirit, Lord,
Let me serve You, and no other.
I am called to the service of fellowship,
I am called to the service of love,
I am called to acknowledge Christ's Kingship,
And to joy with the saints up above.
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As the moon shines, clear and bright,
When good folks are asleeping,
All the creatures of the night,
Come round our village, creeping.
They scamper o'er the roof tops,
Dislodging the odd slate,
To scratch and call within the copse,
Or sitting on the gate.
These busy, small nocturnal folk,
Who haunt the wood and glen,
Will play and work, amidst the oak,
'Til daybreak comes, again.
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There is a time in all our lives,
A time which gives us pleasure.
When wisely used, renews our drives,
That time, we call it, leisure.
If we neglect the use of it,
How dull our lives become,
We can't afford one little bit,
To miss out having fun.
Just think: how awful it would be,
Not to hear the busy bee!
Or take the time to watch the birds,
And listen to some stirring words!.
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My soul, it stirs within me,
When I hear my country's name,
And I think about it's famous men,
Who it's wilderness, sought to tame.
They came from many countries,
And from all walks of life,
To build for us a Nation,
Facing loneliness, and strife.
They sent their roots down deep,
In this 'rugged, sunburnt land',
And made a pledge to keep it safe,
When danger was at hand.
Horatio fought to hold the bridge,
In the early days of Rome,
And, I'm sure, that I would do the same,
To keep, what I call home.
Extracts
reproduced with kind permission from Loloma Tyson.
© EricTyson 2002 |
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