| I was coming home in the dead of night
|
| In a cruel October storm
|
| When an old grey man came into sight
|
| His jacket sodden and torn
|
| The mist was tangled in his hand
|
| As I asked where is your home
|
| He spoke as if I was not there
|
| And his voice was cold as stone
|
| Cold as stone
|
| T’was in that far-off land of mine
|
| Dear land I’ll never see
|
| The grey church, like a ghost, stood up
|
| and the sundial spoke to me
|
| The grey church, like a ghost, stood up
|
| And the sundial spoke to me
|
| It spoke into this soul of mine
|
| This day, this day is thine
|
| The bright-eyed baby Bunsen flowers
|
| showered sweetness on the spring
|
| And in the dark green shade, I heard
|
| Singers of the deep wood sing
|
| And in the dark green shade, I heard
|
| Singers of the deep wood sing
|
| And that old sundial had it’s say
|
| This day, no other day
|
| No other day
|
| No other day
|
| The players of the playtime pass
|
| How swift the seasons turn
|
| For what we strive and most may love
|
| Still never yet may earn
|
| The old sundial, it still speaks on
|
| This day is nearly gone
|
| Nearly gone
|
| Nearly gone
|
| The kisses and the fallen dreams
|
| Hearts that could not hold their pain
|
| Seem holier in the mist of years
|
| That old sundial speaks again
|
| The tears get lost in the mist of years
|
| And the sundial speaks again
|
| Stern teacher, of this heart of mine, this day so lost is thine
|
| This day is thine
|
| My heart is lost in the mist of years
|
| It cannot hold it’s pain
|
| That sundial speaks in this soul of mine
|
| This day, what’s lost, is gone
|
| The day is gone |