THE OLD BROKEN GATE.
Copyright, 1894, by J. Aldrich Libbey.
Composed by Harry T. Dekker.
The dear old farm gate hangs sagging down,
Its rusty hinges all bent and brown;
Its latch is gone and here and there
It shows rude traces of repair.
This old broken gate has seen each year
The roses bloom and disappear,
The bright green leaves of spring unfold
And turn to autumn gold.
The children have on this old gate clung,
And in and out with rapture swung,
When their young hearts were good and pure,
When hope was fair and faith was sure.
That dear old broken gate, what a pleasure it has been
For the babies and the little ones who on it used to swing:
Yet dear to me above all things are the thoughts to me it brings,
That old gale now sagging down, its hinges bent and brown.
Beside that old gate have lovers true
Told the old story, 'tis always new;
Have made their vows, have dreamed of bliss,
Have sealed each promise with a kiss.
This old broken gate has opened wide
To welcome home a new-made bride,
When lilacs bloomed, and locusts fair,
Their sweet fragrance fills the air:
That gate, with its rusty weight and chain,
Has closed upon a solemn train.
That bore her lifeless form away
Upon a dreamy autumn day -Chorus.