And so, for the sake of old friendship, I venture to tell you
the truth,—
As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our
earlier youth.
Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you stood on the
selfsame plane,
Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming your souls
should be parted again.
She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom, of her life's
early May;
And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she does not love you
to-day.
Nature never stands still, nor souls either: they ever go up
or go down;
And hers has been steadily soaring—but how has it been
with your own?
She has struggled and yearned and aspired, grown purer and wiser each year:
The stars are not farther above you in yon luminous atmosphere!
For she whom you crowned with fresh roses, down yonder, five summers ago,
Has learned that the first of our duties to God and ourselves is to grow.
Her eyes they are sweeter and calmer: but their vision is clearer as well;
Her voice has a tender cadence, but is pure as a silver bell.
Her face has the look worn by those who with God and his angels have talked:
The white robes she wears are less white than the spirits with whom she has walked.
And you? Have you aimed at the highest? Have you, too,
aspired and prayed?
Have you looked upon evil unsullied? Have you conquered it
undismayed?
Have you, too, grown purer and wiser, as the months
and the years have rolled on?
Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the triumph
of victory won?