This little book will somewhat bind us;
You’ll take it up, and think of me
And all the joys we’ve left behind us.
As the shadow of the sun is largest when his beams are lowest, so we are always least when we make ourselves the greatest.
Across the page of spotless white
Friends trail the pen, and in our sight
Grow precious all the lines they write.
As for some white-sailed ship at sea,