LOVE’S SONG.
What sounds the deepest notes of life?
Is it bright sunshine, aye?
Some wish that we have had fulfilled,
Or pleasure in our way.
Are we the happiest when some note
Of praise rings through the air?
Or when proud Fame entices us,
Then leaves us to despair.
When people list with bated breath
To hear the words we speak,
And words of admiration give,
And joyously us seek?
Ah no! The deepest note is struck
When we with others weep;
When we have sympathy for those
Who are in trouble deep.
It is afflictions we must bear,
Mistake that we have made,
That strikes the deepest chords of life,
And ne’er from mem’ry fade.
The loss of those who were a part
Of every joy, and grief.
The shadowy thoughts within our souls
That is of life the chief.
To feel, to know, there is a world
Where we shall meet again
The loved ones who have gone beyond;
But not beyond our ken—
Now all the past forgotten is,
And notes of joy will ring
Throughout the blest eternity,
For we Love’s song now sing.
FORGIVE.
Forgive me dear, I did not know
That words of mine wouldst cause thee woe.
I love thee all too well to bring
To thy dear heart the smallest sting.
Thy life is all too sweet and pure
To ever grief or pain endure.
And evermore I’ll guard my speech,
E’ermore my careless tongue I’ll teach
To speak but loving words to thee,
From caustic speech I will be free.
The past is past. Wilt thou forget
The words I spake when first we met?
The thoughtless words that I then spake
Will ever in my heart awake
Remorse, and sorrow, deepest pain.—
O must I plead to thee in vain?
E’er more I’ll speak but love words, dear,
For only love-words shouldst thou hear.
FORGET.
Forget the past, ’tis dead and gone.—
When book is read, no further con
The pages old; unless therein
There’s something that will ever win
A throb of joy within thy heart,
And of thy life seem e’en a part.
The sacred present we will hold.
The future to us will unfold.
The dead, dead past shall be entombed;
Forget it dear, for it is doomed
To mould in grave, to dust return,
All record of that past we’ll burn.
Begin the “Book of Life” anew;
This book we’ll not with tears bedew.
In it we’ll have but love, and peace,
All bitterness of past must cease.
The present, and the future be
Love’s sweetest song, and symphony.
YESTERDAYS.
For all the buried yesterdays
I have not one regret;
I love them not, I mourn them not,
I would them all forget.
Of all the dead, dead yesterdays
Which were so dearly bought,
I care not to remember one,
They were with misery fraught,
They held no joy, they held no peace,
Each day had some deep pain;
So I would never call them back;
Each day seemed lived in vain.
Today I live, today I love,
The yesterdays are dead.
I wot not of the passing days
Though by them I am led.
Today is mine with all it holds,
I’ll do the best I know.
The future is a closed up book,
And may be filled with woe.