PHOEBE CARY.
If we knew the woe and heartache Waiting for us down the road, If our lips could taste the wormwood, If our backs could feel the load— Would we waste the day in wishing For a time that ne'er can be; Would we wait in such impatience For our ships to come from sea?
If we knew the baby fingers Pressed against the window pane, Would be cold and stiff to-morrow— Never trouble us again— Would the bright eyes of our darling Catch the frown upon our brow? Would the prints of rosy fingers Vex us then as they do now?
Ah, those little ice-cold fingers, How they point our memories back To the hasty words and actions Strewn along our backward track!
