Think Of Him Still As The Same,

O'er Folded Blooms On Swirls Of Musk, The Beetle Booms Adown The Glooms And Bumps Along The Dusk.

I Don't Know How To Tell It--but Ef Such A Thing Could Be As The Angels Wantin' Boardin', And They'd Call Around On Me-- I'd Want To 'ccommodate 'em--all The Whole-in-durin' Flock-- When The Frost Is On The Punkin And The Fodder's In The Shock.

Think Of Him Still As The Same, I Say, He Is Not Dead, He Is Just - Away.

Oh, The World's A Curious Compound, With Its Honey And Its Gall, With Its Cares And Bitter Crosses, But A Good World After All. And A Good God Must Have Made It-leastways, That Is What I Say, When A Hand Is On My Shoulder In A Friendly Sort Of Way.

I Cannot Say, And I Will Not Say That He Is Dead. He Is Just Away. With A Cheery Smile, And A Wave Of The Hand, He Has Wandered Into An Unknown Land And Left Us Dreaming How Very Fair It Needs Must Be, Since He Lingers There. And You - Oh You, Who The Wildest Yearn For An Old-time Step, And The Glad Return, Think Of Him Faring On, As Dear In The Love Of There As The Love Of Here. Think Of Him Still As The Same. I Say, He Is Not Dead - He Is Just Away.