That I shall never, never hear again,

Unless in dreams.

What hands have touched it! Fingers small and white,

Since stiff and weary with life’s toil and fight;

Dear clinging hands that long have been at rest,

Folded serenely on a quiet breast.

Only to think,

O white sad notes, of all the pleasant days,

The happy songs, the hymns of holy praise,

The dreams of love and youth, that round you cling!