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IN MEMORY.
He loved them fondly, but I knew He alway loved their mother best.
And all my being sprang to meet The warmth his spirit gave to mine,My soul in gladness pouring out For him its richest, rarest wine.And now I sit alone, and weep In silence; bitter, blinding tearsAre falling, as I gaze upon The weary waste of coming years,—
The days when I shall never hear His step upon my chamber floor;The twilights when my listening heart Shall wait his coming never more.I stretch my arms in vain, and know His vanished form I can not reach;And feel the silence, cold and dark, Unbroken by his loving speech.
I look upon our oldest son, Striving to take his father's place;And trace that father's image on Our baby's fair, unconscious face.
