large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/09_thewoodcutter_service_hp_64kb_15
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/09_thewoodcutter_service_hp_64kb
English
2254
The mountains pose in their ermine, in golden the hills are clad; The big, blue, silt freighted Yukon seethes by my cabin door, And I think it's only the river that keeps me from going mad. THE MOUNTAINS POSE IN THEIR ERMINE IN GOLDEN THE HILLS ARE CLAD THE BIG BLUE SILK FREIGHTED YUKON SEETHES AT MY CABIN DOOR AND I THINK IT'S ONLY THE RIVER THAT KEEPS ME FROM GOING MAD
o glum And sick of everything; The worst is yet to come; God help you till the Spring. God shield you from the Fear; Teach you to laugh, not moan. Ha! ha! it sounds so queer-- Alone, alone, alone! The Wood-Cutter _The sky is like an envelope, One of those blue official things; And, sealing it, to mock our hope, The moon, a silver wafer, clings. What shall we find when death gives leave To read--our sentence or reprieve?_ I'm holding it down on God's scrap-pile, up on the fag-end of earth; O'er me a menace of mountains, a river that grits at my feet; Face to face with my soul-self, weighing my life at its worth; Wondering what I was made for, here in my last retreat. Last! Ah, yes, it's the finish. Have ever you heard a man cry? (Sobs that rake him and rend him, right from the base of the chest.) That's how I've cried, oh, so often; and now that my tears are dry, I sit in the desolate quiet and wait for the infinite Rest. Rest! Well, it's restful around me; it's quiet clean to the core.  THE WOODCUTTER BY ROBERT SERVICE READ FOR LIEBERVOXDAD ORG BY HAIDEY PRICE THE SKY IS LIKE AN ENVELOPE ONE OF THOSE BLUE OFFICIAL THINGS AND SEALING IT TO MOCK OUR HOPE THE MOON A SILVER WAFER CLINGS WHAT SHALL WE FIND WHEN DEATH GIVES LEAVE TO READ OUR SENTENCE OR REPRIEVE I'M HOLDING IT DOWN ON GOD'S SCRAP PILE UP ON THE FAGOND OF EARTH O'ER ME A MENACE OF MOUNTAINS A RIVER THAT GRITS AT MY FEET FACE TO FACE WITH MY SOUL SELF WEIGHING MY LIFE AT ITS WORTH WONDERING WHAT I WAS MADE FOR HERE IN MY LAST RETREAT LAST AH YES IT'S THE FINISH HAVE EVER YOU HEARD A MAN CRY SOBS THAT RAKE HIM AND REND HIM RIGHT FROM THE BASE OF THE CHEST THAT'S HOW I'VE CRIED OH SO OFTEN AND NOW THAT MY TEARS ARE DRY I SIT IN THE DESOLATE QUIET AND WAIT FOR THE INFINITE REST REST WELL IT'S RESTFUL AROUND ME IT'S QUIET CLEAN TO THE CORE
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