C. Douglas Caffey

HE HELD HIS HEAD UP HIGH

The man was black and old,
And as he walked I heard him sigh.
Some say he was a derelict,
But he held his head up high!

His pace was slow and stern;
I never asked him why,
And I may never know
Why he held his head up high!

His face was wrinkled and his hands.
Lost was the hope of youth gone by,
But as I saw him moving steadily on
He held his head up high!

Could it be he knew the Master
Through all the labor of the years,
And in spite of all his tears
He holds his head up high!