Let me count up the songs of life that we
Have sung together from the first till now:
The simple baby-rhymes of bird and bee,
Of sun and star, of stream and blossom-bough.
The deeper music of our youth's new song,
In days when life looked wonderfully fair;
When hearts were daring, pulses quick and strong.
When woe was not, and joy was everywhere.
The wilder strain of passion, smiles and tears,
When love awoke with power to slay or save;
The calmer melody of graver years,
In minor key, like music by a grave.
And now we have another song to learn,
'Tis written for us, we but wait our turn.
I often think this unseen, unsung song.
With all its strangeness, will have notes we know;
And we shall hear its awful chords among
The mingled music of our long ago.
The simple snatches of our baby-rhymes;
The thrilling bars of youth's triumphant strain;
The peals of melody, like wedding chimes.
That bring our summer love-song back again.
It may be this new song is hard to sing,
But shall we grudge to learn it, who have grown
Tired and voiceless in earth's carolling,
Yet fain would have some melody our own?
And, though it is the song of death, we know
That, singing it, to endless life we go.
