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  Cry of the Dreamer Lyrics

I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart weary of building and spoiling
And spoiling and building again
And I long for that dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer he lives forever,
And a toiler will die in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces that are lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts endeavour
I would go where the children play:
For a dreamer he lives forever,
And a toiler will die in a day.

I can feel no pride but pity
For the burden the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
Save the patient lives of the poor.
Ah, the little hands too skilful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter’s heart that’s grown wilful,
And the father’s heart that bleeds!

No, No! From the street’s rude bustle,
From the trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the world’s low rustle
And the meadows’ kindly page,
Let me dream as of old by that river,
And be loved for the dream always,
For a dreamer he lives forever,
And a toiler will die in a day.

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