Our brother left his bed of pain and sought
the other shore.
We will never see his face again, 'mid
scenes he loved, of yore.
We see the flowers the neighbors send.
We see his empty chair.
The paths, o'er which his foot steps went.
But our brother isn't there.
He was a very simple man, 'nor cared for the
He much prefered his quiet home, and his
quiet country life.
He dwelt, content, amid the hills, for many weary years.
Here, where the icy Skagit spills, he knew hardship
Each summer saw him cutting hay, and springtime, sowing seed.
He did his many chores each May.
He tossed the cattle feed.
When snow was deep and winds grew chill.
He struggled on his way. He saw the storms
o'er the hill.
He saw the salmon play.
But little of the world he knew. His
life was calm and good.
He had dear friends, yes. He lived the way he should
I think, as darkness came to him, only longed
Once more across the river, dim, across the water ways-
To where his old home used to stand,
I know he longed to see-
Again, where once he used to land,
amid the fields and trees.