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THE poem which you ask of me, to look upon in future time, I gladly write-but hard it is, to nicely place in every line The words, the thoughts, the busy bees that dance o'er clover-fields of youth Where buttercups with golden glow may sip the dewdrop pearl of truth; This road, probation which we tread, is not without its heavy way-- Because, withdrawn the shades of night, there never then might dawn a day; The hills we climb, the plateau reach; the vale descend: we grope along Until we reach the ancient sea; until we hear the deeper song. I fondly wish a voyage fair may charm your hearts along the way; That you may journey hand in hand; forever as you walk to-day. And by-and-by time swiftly flies until life's anxious day is passed; Then may the nectar of your lives endow a world with love, at last. |