an old man's reminiscence.
39
He stood before the holy man, with her, his youthful bride,
And spoke again the plighting word, that bound him to her side;
Again he clasped the small fair hand that hour had made his own,—
The vision faded—and he stood all desolate—alone.
And spoke again the plighting word, that bound him to her side;
Again he clasped the small fair hand that hour had made his own,—
The vision faded—and he stood all desolate—alone.
His youthful brow is silvered o'er with fourscore winter snows;
The faltering step, the furrowed cheek, tell of life's certain close:
The plighted bride, the faithful wife, beloved so long, so true,
Now sleeps beneath the burial sod, where spring the wild flowers blue.
The faltering step, the furrowed cheek, tell of life's certain close:
The plighted bride, the faithful wife, beloved so long, so true,
Now sleeps beneath the burial sod, where spring the wild flowers blue.
There is no music in his home—no light around his hearth,
The childish forms that frolicked there, have passed with all their mirth;
Years have rolled by, the changing years, and now he stands alone,
Musing upon the past—the past—hopes faded, loved ones gone.
The childish forms that frolicked there, have passed with all their mirth;
Years have rolled by, the changing years, and now he stands alone,
Musing upon the past—the past—hopes faded, loved ones gone.
