She used to have a dream,
Of songs that she would sing,
Of silks and diamonds she would wear,
Of all the pleasures wealth would bring.
She used to have a dream
To climb a snow-capped mountain high,
To write a poem of sighing winds,
To paint a sun-splashed western sky.
But all those dreams of yesterday
Have changed, and have become more fair;
The songs she sings are lullabies,
Her wealth--her baby's golden hair.
She has not climbed the mountain's peak,
Nor has the things that wealth can give.
But still she has this great dream left--
To teach her baby how to live.
She used to dream--
Of wealth and power and fame.
And though no crowds will call her great,
God surely knows her name.