I saw us sitting there when we were young, and glad, and strong,
Ere we had learned that sorrow lends a sweetness to life’s song
When every golden Sabbath day found us in love with life—
The world was fair, and God was good, and we were man and wife.
One pretty far off summer morn my dim eyes seemed to see,
A morn when I sat by your side, our first-born on my knee;
His fair head lay upon my arm, and rich was I, and proud,
I whispered in the Master’s ear things spoken not aloud;
And then our other bonnie lads grew plain unto my eyes,
And Belle—our lassie fair and good, our lassie sweet and wise.
I felt again her little hand clasped tightly in my own—
A mother holds her daughter dear, and I had but the one.
My soft eyed one, my loving one, with braids of yellow hair—
Ah me! I could not help but know the little one was fair.
In the old church I thought upon our hour of grief and pain,
Of loneliness—she went away and came not back again—
When broken-hearted ’neath the loss we bowed beneath the rod,
There, close about us in that hour, we felt the arm of God.
I saw us older grown and bent, each tall son in his place,
I saw the minister who stood with heaven in his face,
His worn old face we loved so well, his eyes that seemed to see
The golden light that lights the shore of God’s eternity;
And yet how simple was his heart, how kindly was his way,
And how he cared for all his flock, nor wearied night nor day!
If one strayed far he followed it, and won it back to fold,
If one fell down he lifted it with tenderness untold;
He fell asleep his labor done—how sweet must be the rest
Of one who made his motto this, The Lord shall have my best.
Good-bye, old church! Good-bye, I said, and left its portals wide,
And then I turned and looked upon the new church just beside;
Upon its windows tall and stained the yellow sunbeams played,
It stood, the temple of the Lord, in loveliness arrayed.
“I thought,” she said, and stroked his hand, “of one who takes his rest,
I seemed to hear his deep voice say: The Lord shall have my best.”
The sun crept lower in the sky, the world lay sweet and fair,
A bird trilled softly from its throat a song that was a prayer.
The old man looked up at his wife, with tears his cheeks were wet,
“Ay, there are many things,” he said, “we may not, dear, forget.
We’re growing old, wife, like the day our sun sinks in the west,
I’ll say with him we both loved well, The Lord shall have my best.”
