30.07.2007, 10:19
Mary Pickford
The organ rises with a yearning tone,
And soon the picture flashes on the screen,
While thousands thrill to watch the touching scene
Where Mary battles with the world alone,
An orphan child deserted and unknown.
But with the soul and grace of Nature's queen,
She glorifies the lowly and the mean
With light and truth and beauty all her own.
And there she plays, an angel in her art,
Whose face with all its changes still is fine;
As perfect as a dream that grips the heart
When those we loved come in our sleep and shine,
Just as we knew them, true to live's old part,
And flawless in a light that makes divine.
The organ rises with a yearning tone,
And soon the picture flashes on the screen,
While thousands thrill to watch the touching scene
Where Mary battles with the world alone,
An orphan child deserted and unknown.
But with the soul and grace of Nature's queen,
She glorifies the lowly and the mean
With light and truth and beauty all her own.
And there she plays, an angel in her art,
Whose face with all its changes still is fine;
As perfect as a dream that grips the heart
When those we loved come in our sleep and shine,
Just as we knew them, true to live's old part,
And flawless in a light that makes divine.