WADE
Out of the infinite depths of love,
Floated a spirit song,
Plaintive and sad as coo of dove,
Burdened for sin and wrong;
So tender and sweet the melody,
None heard that song but he.
Out of the days of childhood joys,
Faded the smile of light;
The sun that dazzled other boys,
For him was never bright:
The birds sang sweet on every tree—
All heard their songs but he.
Out of the realms of infinite light,
A song of infinite glee;
The faded smile of joy grew bright,
"Mother is waiting for thee."
So tender and sweet the melody,
None heard that song but he.