 His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by Bill Mosley My days among the dead are past. Around me, I behold, where these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds of old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief and woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been beddued with tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years, their virtues love, their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and I with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence April 2010 at Mountain Lake Campground near Summersville, West Virginia. My days among the dead are past. Around me I behold, where ere these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds of old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief in woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been bedewed with tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years, their virtues love, their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with a humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and I with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by Ernst Patinama My days among the dead are past. Around me I behold, where ere these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds of old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief in woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been bedewed with tears of thoughtful gratitude. Our thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years. Their virtues love, their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with a humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and I with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by Fedgera My days among the dead are past. Around me I behold, where ere these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds are old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief in woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been bedewed with tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years. Their virtues love their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with a humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and I with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by Joelle Peebles My days among the dead are past. Around me I behold, where ere these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds of old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief in woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been bedewed with tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years. Their virtues love their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with a humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and I with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett My days among the dead are past. Around me I behold, where ere these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds of old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief in woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been bedewed with tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years. Their virtues love their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. End of Poem This recording is in the public domain. His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding My days among the dead are past. Around me I behold, where ere these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds of old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief in woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been bedewed with tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years. Their virtues love their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and I with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. End of Poem This recording is in the public domain. His Books, by Robert Southie Red for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding My days among the dead are past. Around me I behold, where ere these casual eyes are cast, the mighty minds of old. My never-failing friends are they with whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in wheel and seek relief in woe, and while I understand and feel how much to them I owe, my cheeks have often been bedewed with tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead. With them I live in long past years. Their virtues love their faults condemn, partake their hopes and fears, and from their lessons seek and find instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the dead. A none my place with them will be, and I with them shall travel on through all futurity. Yet leaving here a name I trust that will not perish in the dust. End of Poem This recording is in the public domain.