O the sweetest thing in the hour of pain Is to have one near us who understands, To touch us gently and hold our hands, Till our strength and courage come back again. At love's swift pace you hurried to me— Your tender words they will ring in my ears When I sit and dream after long, long years— The shine in your eyes through the mists I'll see.
Our lives will be lying so far apart, And time, no doubt, will have given us much Of weary wisdom; put many a touch Of his withering hand on face and heart. But I know what I will love best of all To do at the end of the busy day, When the dusk comes down and the shadows play, And the wind sings low in the poplars tall.
I will love to get into my corner here, With the curtains drawn, and never a one To break the stillness—to sit here alone And dream of these happy days, my dear, And take my treasures from memory's hold— The tears, the laughter, the songs that were sung— O the friends we love when the heart is young Are the friends we love when the heart grows old!
THE GHOSTS OF NIGHT.
When we were children, long ago, And crept to bed at close of day, With backward glance and footstep slow, Though all aweary with our play, Do you remember how the room— The little room with window deep— Would fill with shadows and with gloom, And fright us so we could not sleep?
For O! the things we see at night— The dragons grim, the goblins tall, And, worst of all, the ghosts in white That range themselves along the wall!
We could but cover up our head, And listen to our heart's wild beat— Such dreadful things about our bed, And no protection save a sheet! Then slept, and woke quite unafraid. The sun was shining, and we found Our shadows and our ghosts all laid, Our world a glorious playing-ground.
For O! the things we see at night— The dragons grim, the goblins tall, And, worst of all, the ghosts in white That range themselves along the wall!