MEMORY’S BOOK.
I ope the book at mother’s side,
And turn the leaves so pure.
I read the pages with delight;
Their innocence allure.
I turn the leaves with greatest care,
I find there naught of pain;
’Tis happy childhood’s joyous days,
And were not lived in vain.
I turn another leaf, and find
Some things I would forget;
Some selfish thought, some unkind act,
And much that I regret.
Again I turn a leaf, and there
I see inscribed thereon,
Mistakes, and errors, selfishness,
Yet many victories won.
Full many times I conquered self,
And overcame much ill.
These memories are the dearest ones,
And linger with me still.
One memory sweet has its own place,
Has its own sacred nest.
’Tis buried deep within my heart,
And rests there—let it rest.
O childhood days come back again!
When at my mother’s knee
I learned the songs my mother sang,
In our cottage by the sea.