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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408281" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bob</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SINGER of songs of the hills—<br>Dreamer, by waters unstirred,<br>Back in a valley of rills,<br>Home of the leaf and the bird!—<br>Read in this fall of the year<br>Just the compassionate phrase,<br>Faded with traces of tear,<br>Written in far-away days: <br>“Gone is the light of my lap<br>(Lord, at Thy bidding I bow),<br>Here is my little one’s cap,<br>He has no need of it now,<br>Give it to somebody’s boy—<br>Somebody’s darling”—she wrote.<br>Touching was Bob in his joy—<br>Bob without boots or a coat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only a cap; but it gave<br>Capless and comfortless one<br>Happiness, bright as the brave,<br>Beautiful light of the sun.<br>Soft may the sanctified sod<br>Rest on the father who led<br>Bob from the gutter, unshod—<br>Covered his cold little head! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bob from the foot to the crown<br>Measured a yard, and no more—<br>Baby alone in the town,<br>Homeless, and hungry, and sore—<br>Child that was never a child,<br>Hiding away from the rain,<br>Draggled and dirty and wild,<br>Down in a pipe of the drain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poor little beggar was Bob—<br>Couldn’t afford to be sick,<br>Getting a penny a job,<br>Sometimes a curse and a kick.<br>Father was killed by the drink;<br>Mother was driven to shame;<br>Bob couldn’t manage to think—<br>He had forgotten their name. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">God was in heaven above,<br>Flowers illumined the ground,<br>Women of infinite love<br>Lived in the palaces round—<br>Saints with the character sweet<br>Found in the fathers of old,<br>Laboured in alley and street—<br>Baby slept out in the cold. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nobody noticed the child—<br>Nobody knew of the mite<br>Creeping about like a wild<br>Thing in the shadow of night.<br>Beaten by drunkards and cowed—<br>Frightened to speak or to sob—<br>How could he ask you aloud,<br>“Have you a penny for Bob?” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Few were the pennies he got—<br>Seldom could hide them away,<br>Watched by the ravenous sot<br>Ever at wait for his prey.<br>Poor little man! He would weep<br>Oft for a morsel of bread;<br>Coppers he wanted to keep<br>Went to the tavern instead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This was his history, friend—<br>Ragged, unhoused, and alone;<br>How could the child comprehend<br>Love that he never had known?<br>Hunted about in the world,<br>Crouching in crevices dim,<br>Crust with a curse at him hurled<br>Stood for a kindness with him. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Little excited his joy—<br>Bun after doing a job;<br>Mother of bright-headed boy,<br>Think of the motherless Bob!<br>High in the heavens august<br>Providence saw him, and said—<br>“Out of the pits of the dust<br>Lift him, and cover his head.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, the ineffable grace,<br>Father of children, in Thee!<br>Boy in a radiant place,<br>Fanned by the breeze of the sea—<br>Child on a lullaby lap<br>Said, in the pause of his pain,<br>“Mother, don’t bury my cap—<br>Give it to Bob in the lane.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beautiful bidding of Death!<br>What could she do but obey,<br>Even when suffering Faith<br>Hadn’t the power to pray?<br>So, in the fall of the year,<br>Saint with the fatherly head<br>Hunted for somebody’s dear—<br>“Somebody’s darling,” he said. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bob, who was nobody’s child,<br>Sitting on nobody’s lap,<br>Draggled and dirty and wild—<br>Bob got the little one’s cap.<br>Strange were compassionate words!<br>Waif of the alley and lane<br>Dreamed of the music of birds<br>Floating about in the rain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">White-headed father in God,<br>Over thy beautiful grave<br>Green is the grass of the sod,<br>Soft is the sound of the wave.<br>Down by the slopes of the sea<br>Often and often will sob<br>Boy who was fostered by thee—<br>This is the story of Bob.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408281" data-title="Bob de Henry Kendall" data-description="SINGER of songs of the hills—
Dreamer, by waters unstirred,
Back in a valley of rills,
Home of the leaf and the bird!—
Read in this fall of the year
Just the compassionate phrase,
Faded with traces of tear,
Written in far-away days: 
“Gone i..."></div>
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