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The Old Measure - Daniel Martin Moore
As a sigh comes finally
At the end of a regret
Some things are just impossible
To forget
My affections and reflections
The many irons in a lasting burn
And each extracts its due
In its own turn
Our small measure the old measure
Our muscle our mettle our nerve
May temper but can't change
What we deserve
I have read by my own dim light
And of these matters at hand
I recount to you
What truths i can
Our small measure the old measure
Our muscle our mettle our nerve
May temper but can't change
What we deserve
I have read by my own dim light
And of these matters at hand
I recount to you
What truths i can
Our small measure the old measure
Our muscle our mettle our nerve
May temper but can't change
What we deserve
