ONLY A DREAM.
91
I felt thy hand upon my arm,
Beside me thy meek face I saw,
Yet through the sweet familiar grace
A something spiritual could trace
That left a nameless awe.
Beside me thy meek face I saw,
Yet through the sweet familiar grace
A something spiritual could trace
That left a nameless awe.
Trembling I said, "Long years have passed
Since thou wert from my side beguiled;
Now thou 'rt returned and all shall be
As was before."—Half-pensively
Thou answered'st—"Nay, my child."
Since thou wert from my side beguiled;
Now thou 'rt returned and all shall be
As was before."—Half-pensively
Thou answered'st—"Nay, my child."
I pleaded sore: " Hadst thou forgot
The love wherewith we loved of old,—
The long sweet days of converse blest,
The nights of slumber on thy breast,—
Wert thou to me grown cold?"
The love wherewith we loved of old,—
The long sweet days of converse blest,
The nights of slumber on thy breast,—
Wert thou to me grown cold?"
There beamed on me those eyes of heaven
That wept no more, but ever smiled;
"Love only is love in that Home
Where I abide—where, till thou come,
I work for thee, my child."
That wept no more, but ever smiled;
"Love only is love in that Home
Where I abide—where, till thou come,
I work for thee, my child."
If from my sight thou passedst then,
Or if my sobs the dream exiled,
I know not: but in memory clear
I seem these strange words still to hear,
"I work for thee, my child."
Or if my sobs the dream exiled,
I know not: but in memory clear
I seem these strange words still to hear,
"I work for thee, my child."
