Being wedded to one he loved dearly,
Time’s changes could never destroy
Their mutual love for each other;
And ’twas ever a source of joy.
But the years that are swiftly going
Bear man’s joys and sorrows away,
And his youth and his manhood’s vigor,
Remorselessly to decay.
The summer to autumn was merging
When the wife took ill and died;
As by a tempest he was shaken,
Uncontrollably the strong man cried.
Somehow Big Mike was never the same
From that irreparable day;
And he strangely weary and silent grew,
And his look was far away.
Over the fields, by the nooks and ways
That had blest his early life so,
As in a dream with her so loved,
He silently went to and fro.
Sometimes with his trusty rifle
He sought for the lurking game;
But, lost forever the incentive,
The hunting was never the same.
And all aimlessly he wandered
Through the forest gray and dim,
Through the stately and awesome forest,
That was ever so dear to him.
The old friends, concerned for his welfare,
Said, “Why don’t you get wedded again?”
But Big Mike raised his stately head,
And a look as of nameless pain
Spread over his grand and honest face,
As he said (with voice full of tears),
“I loved my wife when she was but a child—
I have loved her all these years—
Aye, and I love her supremely still—
And far more precious to me
Is the grass that grows on her quiet grave
Than another can ever be.
“My heart is laid in her lonesome tomb,
And there will be no change in me;
Faithful in life and faithful in death,
And through all eternity.”
And there came a day when Big Mike sat
By the shore of the soundless sea;
There calmly waiting to launch away
Into endless eternity.
Then they laid him by his dear one’s side,
Where above them the grass doth grow;
And the sighing winds, and the sobbing rain,
And the seasons that come and go
Are all unheeded by Big Mike now.
Ah! ’tis seldom his like is seen;
Put a fadeless wreath on his silent brow,
Keep his mem’ry ever green.
WINTER TIME.
I’m tired to-night of the winter time,
Its dreariness, moan, and woe,
The lonesome wind, the sleet and snow,
That continually come and go.
And the chill white robe that enfoldeth
The earth in a cold embrace—
Just as we shrouded the form we loved,
And covered the pale dead face.