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THERE have started on the journey, just a little step you know, Three of our dearly loved ones, it makes our hearts ache so To bid good-by thus early to the happy little band Which has cheered, for years so fleeting, with loving heart and hand. Not fairer were the flowers that bloom in sweetest May, Not purer was the spring brook coursing gently on its way, Not lighter was the robin or the done, which tidings bring, Nor promising the looked-for, the advent of bright spring. But the picture now has faded, except on memory's scroll, Where time shall never dim it, there touched with life and soul: And one truly lasting comfort which will never fade away Is the thought that we shall meet them on a brighter, better day. Their morning was their spring-time, their noon was gentle May, Their eventide was summer, they could not longer stay; Youth's flowers bloomed about them in wreaths of childish glee, And on their little book of life is left what we may see. Oft sweetest flowers soonest fade, as if some beckoning hand Had wafted in from unknown space--the Great Divide had spanned, And the blossoms of the spring-time in beauty for a day Left the nectar in remembrance as the blossoms fled away. |